by Joan Smith
Severn arrived home barely in time to change for dinner. He did not think to ask what she had done that afternoon, and she didn’t tell him. They attended three different routs that evening. Helena stood up with Severn at the first one, then avoided him. Rutledge had returned from Newmarket, and she obliged him with dances at two of the parties.
On the day before her own ball, a young lady was allowed to be on the fidgets. The next day Helena oversaw the placement of flowers and chairs and tried to make herself useful. The Comstocks called to see if they could be of service and remained for tea. Their talk was of Marion’s nuptials. Every word pierced Helena like a thorn. She was invited to a ball in the evening but decided to remain at home.
Severn agreed at once. He welcomed this opportunity of privacy with her. Never before had he wooed in vain. Helena’s lack of interest was a continuing frustration. It was a blow to his heart, as well as his pride.
“An excellent idea,” he said. “We shall have a quiet evening. You will want an early night, to be in looks for your own party.”
“I have letters to write,” she said, and went upstairs.
Knowing that tomorrow would be a busy day, she wrote her farewell note to Lady Hadley, to be placed on her pillow when she left. She gave effusive thanks for her godmother’s hospitality and apologized for leaving so informally. When she tried to explain the reason for her flight, invention ran dry, so she said simply that it was for the best.
Of course, she gave no clue that Spain was her destination. Perhaps they would think she had gone to Papa’s estate in Lancashire. At the bottom she wrote a postscript for Severn, asking him to sell her tilbury and team and please to take the hundred pounds she owed him from the sum. Then she counted her money. She had enough to leave pourboires for the servants.
As darkness fell, she sat at the window, watching the stars come out. A fat white moon floated over the chimney pots. Tomorrow night it would float over the ocean, but it would shine on both her and Eduardo, the only thing they shared.
Severn announced in the morning that he would not go into work that day. “You must!” she said. She could not bear a whole day with him at her shoulder. Her nerves were already on edge.
“Your ball is important to you, Cousin. I want nothing lacking to make it a happy occasion. I might be able to help.”
She was touched at his thoughtfulness. For once he was actually putting her before his politics. “You have work to do. Madrina and I will be on hand if any difficulty arises.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure, Eduardo.”
His face eased into a smile. “You have not called me that for some time, Helena.”
“I always call you that in my thoughts,” she said.
He left, much cheered. This promised well for the evening. Before it was over, he hoped to make his proposal.
The coiffeur arrived at five to do the ladies’ hair. At six he left, and Sally helped Helena into her new gown.
“You look like a bride,” Sally said, surveying the vision of beauty before her—eyes sparkling, a flush lighting the youthful cheeks, and the exquisite gown of virginal white.
Sally took up the Spanish shawl and placed it around her mistress’s shoulders before she descended the staircase. A few of the two dozen guests invited for dinner before the ball had already arrived. Severn was required to entertain them in the saloon. He did not see Helena until she appeared at the doorway in her Spanish hairdo, with the jeweled comb protruding at the top and her blazing shawl lending a splash of color. For a brief moment, he felt he had been pitched back a month, to the day of her arrival. The memory was like a jolt to his heart.
The little gasp from the others in the room told him Helena’s toilette had not found favor. Blind idiots! He hastened forward, smiling, to greet her with a bow,
“Señorita, you look enchanting.”
Conversation erupted in the saloon as curious eyes conned Helena. “I feared you might not like it,” she said to Severn.
“A man would have to be a severe critic indeed to find a fault with—perfection. And you have already taken me to task for criticizing things I know so little of.”
“I expect you know something about ladies’ toilettes.”
“I know what I like,” he said, and led her into the room.
Severn, who was recognized as an authority in social matters, was used as a guide, and Helena’s Spanish graces were accepted without further disapproval. She was half a foreigner, after all, and the gown was white, at least.
Neither Malvern nor Marion had any fault to find. Mrs. Comstock continued squinting, but when Malvern smiled, she was won over. They had sherry, and then Lady Hadley led the way into the dining room. The table was a marvel of crystal, silver, and roses. Lady Hadley had pulled out all the stops to put on a feast worthy of Cousina. Course followed by course, with many removes and much champagne.
It was a night whose memory any lady might treasure, but for Helena, it was salt in the wound. Severn was warmly attentive, but she would have preferred a touch of temper, to ease her parting. They opened the ball with the minuet, to a little spate of conjecture. If Severn was not wearing the smile of a bridegroom, they would be much surprised. Well, he might smile, beating the duke to the Spanish lady’s fortune!
There was considerable speculation of this sort, even among the debs. Helena chanced to overhear one ill-natured lady explain the matter to a less informed friend when she slipped abovestairs a moment to rearrange her comb, which had shaken loose during a country dance. The ladies were unaware that Lady Helena was behind them on the broad staircase.
“It looks like a match for Severn,” one lady mentioned.
“There was never any doubt of it, Cathy. Severn let a fortune like that slip through his fingers? Not likely.”
“But Lady Helena is very pretty.”
“She is handsome, I allow, but not quite comme il faut. That garish shawl she is wearing tonight, and her hair! Severn will trim her into line once they are married, of course. I don’t envy her, myself. She’d have been better off with the duke. I wonder how Severn turned him off?”
“Did the duke make an offer?” Cathy asked.
“Who knows? Severn would not announce it, would he? Not until he has Lady Helena firmly in his pocket.”
It was just the tonic Helena required to firm her determination. She could not fool herself into thinking she was imagining Severn’s true intentions, when they were common knowledge. She left off her shawl, as the young ladies seemed to think it inappropriate, but retained her Spanish comb when she went below to continue dancing the night away, while her heart throbbed angrily within her.
She wanted to cry but had to force smiles. A feverish gaiety seized her, and she danced and flirted outrageously with any young gentleman of a mind to oblige her. She made a special point to stand up twice with the duke, the second time for the waltzes. That set the gossips to chattering!
It also brought Severn to her side the instant the waltzes were finished. He took a firm grip on her elbow and led her from the floor. “Was it really necessary for you to make a spectacle of yourself?” he demanded.
“Spectacle? Surely a lady is allowed to waltz at her own ball, Severn.”
“You stood up with him twice!”
“Perhaps as an indication of my intentions,” she riposted.
His reply was hot and hasty. “Has he offered for you without asking my permission?”
“He is a duke of good character and vast fortune. You could not refuse him permission if he asked, so why argue?”
“Are you going to marry him?” he asked, his voice louder, his brow blacker, and his mood angrier.
“You will be the second to know if I accept an offer. It will be for my chaperon to give the duke permission. Stick to counting my pounds and pence, Severn. You are so good at that.”
She strode angrily away and latched on to the first gentleman she met. She would not satisfy Severn by running to her room and
hiding. She heard scarcely a note of Juan’s concert, though she was happy to hear the loud applause. Many matrons expressed an interest in hiring him. After the musical interlude, she danced until the last guest had left, at which time she thanked Lady Hadley effusively. As it was the last time she would see dear Madrina, she wrapped her arms around her.
“How shall I ever thank you for all you have done, Madrina? It was worth coming to England, just to meet you.”
“We have enjoyed every minute of it. Haven’t we, Edward?”
“It has been a great pleasure,” he said, with a face like a martyr. “And now, as it is well past two o’clock, I suggest we all retire and continue our discussion in the morning.”
“But before I go, I want to thank you, too, Severn,” Helena said. She took a long look at him, storing up an image of this angry mood, which would do much in the days ahead to convince her she had acted wisely in fleeing. She reached out and shook his hand. He frowned in puzzlement but returned the handshake. Then Lady Helena turned and ran upstairs.
“She is worn out, poor child,” Lady Hadley said.
Severn tried to convince himself it was fatigue that had caused Helena’s strange mood—almost as if she were saying good-bye with that handshake.
Chapter Twenty-three
Sally had insisted on staying up till the small hours of the morning to assist her mistress to bed. Her ladyship looked so fagged that she did not press her for details as she removed the Spanish comb and brushed out her hair.
“It was lovely, Sally. My godmama has been so very kind to me. And you have been a model dresser. I want you to have this.” She handed Sally the Spanish comb.
“Oh, miss! It’s too much!” Sally said, but she snatched it eagerly.
“If you ever require a character, I shall be happy to give you one,” Helena said.
“If you’re that fond of me, your ladyship, why don’t you take me with you?” She wondered why her mistress should blanch and stare at that hint. “When you marry, I mean.”
“But I have no plan to marry in the near future.”
“I’m amazed his lordship didn’t come up to scratch. You’d have him, I fancy?” Sally peered into the mirror to see how this piece of impertinence was accepted. Lady Helena looked forlorn. “Lord Severn is so gone on you, the whole house is talking about it. We’ve never seen him so taken. Sits by the hour staring at the wall, Sugden says, with a moonish look on his face. He’s a good master. Lively but steady. ‘He’ll wear well,’ my ma would say. You can’t say better than that.”
“He will make some lady a good husband. I find him cold.”
“You’re from Spain, your ladyship. He ain’t cold for an Englishman. You could heat him up, I daresay, with encouraging.” On this piece of wisdom she lay down her brush and went to turn down the bed. Over her shoulder she said, “You can tell me all about the party tomorrow, ma’am. What gents you danced with and all the naughty things they said. Now into bed with you.”
“Run along to bed, Sally. You should not have stayed up so late, but I am happy you did.” Those are the last words I shall ever say to my faithful servant, Helena thought.
As soon as Sally was gone, Helena put on her traveling suit. She placed the letter for Madrina on her pillow and arranged the servants’ pourboires in discrete piles on her desk. She wrote a special thank-you note to Sally, then sat and waited for the household to settle down. It seemed an age before complete silence reigned. She opened the door a crack, looked, and listened. No sound came from the hallway. No light shone up from below. She crept out quietly and tiptoed down the front stairs, through the hall, and to the front door.
Its well-oiled hinges emitted no telltale squawk as she opened it. She was outside, with pale moonlight silvering the cobblestones. If all went according to plan, her hansom cab should be waiting around the corner at Chapel Street. Her feet flew over the cobblestones. She peered into the darkness and heard the whinny of the team before she spotted the carriage. Apparently the driver saw her, for the carriage suddenly lurched forward. Within a minute, it was beside her. “The docks,” she said, and opened the door herself to enter.
Once inside the rumbling carriage, she relaxed against the leather squabs. The most harrowing part of her flight was accomplished. Now she had only to sit and wait until they reached the dock, board the ship, and wait again until the tide and winds were favorable for its departure. Wrapped in her own thoughts, she paid no heed to the squalid parts of the town the carriage traversed. When they drove past a strolling group of bucks, Helena hid herself, for the sight of a lone female within might incite them to mischief.
They hollered to the driver to stop, thinking the carriage was empty. The driver wisely urged his nags on to a trot and outran them. Nothing else of any account happened, and before long she was let down at the dockside. Seven ships rose up from the river, silhouetted against the silver sky. The fat moon’s reflection bobbed on the shiny black water. Above, the sky was spangled with stars, promising good weather. She peered into the darkness to read the ships’ names. “That one,” she told the driver, pointing to the Princess Margaret.
The driver accompanied her to the ship, and she gave him his fare. “Thank you for your help, sir,” she said.
He felt uneasy, leaving a lady alone at night in such a dangerous place. “I’ll wait till you’re taken aboard, milady.”
The ship was in darkness, but a few shouts brought the night guard to the railing. The driver shouted her name, and the plank was let down. At last she was on board ship.
“When will we be setting sail?” she asked eagerly.
“Captain says by afternoon, ma’am, with the tide.”
“That long!”
“Why don’t you catch a few winks, your ladyship? ‘Twill be morning soon enough. We might be off sooner, if we get a good western wind.”
He led her to her cabin and lit the lamp. The cabin was similar to the one she had occupied during her trip to England. It was as comfortable as such a confined space could be, with a little bed in the corner, a set of drawers built in, and even a small desk. She saw her cases stowed at the end of the bed. She would unpack them tomorrow morning. She sank onto the bed, emotionally exhausted, and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.
When she awoke, a shaft of sunlight penetrated at the porthole window. The shriek of sea gulls mingled with the sound of human voices and the busy patter of sailors’ feet as they went about their chores. She wanted to go up on deck but was wary of making herself visible, lest Severn discover her flight and come after her. He could not know where she had gone, but eventually he might guess. She should have left a note hinting him in some other direction. A runaway match occurred to her.
She ordered breakfast in her cabin. A full breakfast of gammon and eggs and toast and tea soon arrived. Food would be less satisfying toward the end of the trip, but while the ship was docked, fresh supplies were available. She ate desultorily, to pass the time. Eight-thirty. Five hours, even if they left as early as one-thirty in the afternoon.
* * *
At eight-thirty Severn was just rising after his late night. He would take the morning off from work and drive Helena into the countryside to explain away last night’s temper. At nine he was in the breakfast parlor.
“Lady Helena is not up yet?” he asked the footman.
“No, sir. Not yet.”
It was only to be expected. At nine-thirty he had finished a second cup of tea. He was about to go to his study to await Helena when Sugden appeared at the door, followed by a trembling Sally. “Tell him what you told me,” Sugden ordered.
“She’s gone, milord,” Sally said, and burst into tears.
“What the devil is she talking about?” Severn demanded.
“It is her ladyship, milord. Lady Helena, that is to say. She is not in her room. Her bed has not been slept in. There is a note for ladyship, who has not arisen yet.”
“Bring it to me at once!” Severn demanded.
Sugd
en had foreseen this demand and handed over the note, Severn tore it open and scanned it. He sat a moment, pale and distraught, trying to make sense of it. “She’s gone,” he said in a hollow voice.
“Yes, milord. Shall I have your carriage called?”
“Yes, have my curricle brought around at once.” He turned to Sally. “Did she take her clothes with her?”
“No, sir. Not most of them. A few things are missing.”
“Those cases ostensibly for Lord Aylesbury that her ladyship has been taking away ...” Sugden suggested, peering to see if he exceeded his authority.
“What cases? A couple of jackets do not require cases.”
Sugden explained. Sally burst into a fresh shower of tears. “I had a funny feeling last night that something was amiss when she said she’d give me a character.”
Severn recalled that he had had the same feeling when she said good-bye. He jumped up from the table and ran to his mother’s room. He entered without knocking, waving the note. “Helena’s gone, run away,” he announced.
Lady Hadley, who had been enjoying a comfortable cup of tea while glancing through the court news, dropped her teacup. A brown stain spread over an antique, hand-embroidered silk quilt. “Good God!” she exclaimed, “Where could she be?”
“Rutledge!” Severn growled, and turned to pace from the room. Two dances last night, and that rallying challenge that the duke was “unexceptionable.”
“I say, Edward!” his mama called. “If it is Rutledge, why make a runaway match? No one could possibly object to him.”
“That mawworm! I object!” Severn howled, and fled downstairs to pace and curse until his curricle arrived.
He drove straight to Berkeley Square, where an astonished Rutledge received him. That the duke was at home, calmly eating a beefsteak, told Severn he was mistaken. He disliked to reveal Helena’s outrageous behavior, but the duke came to his own conclusions.
