Barbara Cartland - Helga in Hiding

“Sit down, child, and tell me about it. But I cannot see how I can possibly help you and I am sure that there are many people to look after you even though your mother is not here.”

“That is – not so,” Helga replied. “Please – may I tell you – everything?”

“That is what I want you to do,” Milly replied.

There was an empty chair beside the dressing table that Helga sat down on and, as she did so, Milly realised at once how lovely she was, looking so very like her mother when she was a young girl.

Milly guessed that Helga must be about the same age as she had been when she had first met Christofer.

“How old are you?” she asked curiously.

“I am eighteen,” Helga replied.

That was what Milly had thought she would be and she remembered that Beryl, who was two years older than herself, had married Lord Wensley just six months after she had run away with Christofer.

She had read every mention of it she could find in the social columns of the newspapers, and she had wondered if Beryl, despite being shocked at the way that she had left home, had missed her amongst her bridesmaids.

Then after the Wedding she had heard no more about her sister and sometimes when she was alone she had longed to be able to gossip with her as they had done when they were girls.

She could see a great resemblance in Helga’s face to her mother’s, but she thought with a little pang that the girl was more beautiful.

Beautiful in a young and springlike manner that she herself had lost years ago, but which when she was behind the footlights, she still tried to recapture even though now it was only an illusion.

“I have come to you, Aunt Millicent,” Helga was saying, “because Mama told me to and I am also desperate!”

“Why should you be desperate?” Milly asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I-I don’t expect you would know that Papa – died five years ago?”

“I had no idea of it,” Milly answered. “There seemed to be very little about your mother in the newspapers and I had no other way of learning what she was doing.”

“There was nothing in the newspapers because there was nothing to write about,” Helga said. “We were very very poor before Papa died and we lived in a small house in the country where Papa bred horses and, although we were so very happy there he used to worry because they brought him in so little money.”

“I always imagined your mother would be well off,” Milly remarked. “What happened?”

Helga made a helpless little gesture with her hand that Milly noticed was very graceful.

“I think Papa lost a lot of money on the Stock Exchange and, although Mama had a small allowance from Grandpapa, he also was not very rich and so I think that Uncle Richard must have been extravagant.”

Milly smiled.

Although her brother was younger than she, she was quite certain that when he grew up he would be like a great number of their Stafford ancestors.

Although they might be brave in battle, they were also dashing in peacetime, gambling away their money or spending it on expensive horses and attractive women.

“Anyway,” Helga continued, “when Papa died, Mama had no idea how we could make ends meet. We sold off the horses, but we did not get very much for them and when that money had gone Mama was beginning to think that we should have to beg Uncle Richard, who was now the Head of the Family, to keep us when Sir Hector Preston came along.”

“Who is he?” Milly asked her.

“I suppose that you would describe him as a fox-hunting Squire,” Helga said with a little flash of humour.

“You did not like him?”

“He was a red-faced, bullying type of man, but he fell in love with Mama and asked her to marry him. Although she had no wish to accept him, it seemed to be the only solution to our difficulties.”

“So your mother became Lady Preston,” Milly said as if she was making it clear in her own mind.

Helga nodded.

“We moved into his big ugly house in Worcestershire where my stepfather was Master of Foxhounds and was considered to be quite an important personage in his own way.”

“Was your mother happy?” Milly enquired.

“She missed Papa desperately,” Helga replied, “and she never cared for my stepfather’s friends. They thought of nothing but horses, they drank a great deal and, when they came to the house, were very noisy and so different in every way from Papa.”

“I know what you mean,” Milly responded. “Go on. What happened?”

“Mama seemed to grow quieter and at the same time thinner and more fragile,” Helga said. “She did not see a doctor, but I thought sometimes that she was in pain and she always seemed tired. Then suddenly a year ago she said to me,

‘I am going to die, Helga, and I don’t know what will become of you ‒ when I do.”

“‘You must not die, Mama!’ I cried out. ‘How could I possibly manage without you? It would be so horrible here alone’.”

‘“I have been thinking about that,’ Mama said, ‘and I am worried, very worried, Helga.’

“She paused for a moment and I thought that she was making up her mind whether or not to tell me what was frightening her.

“Then she said,

‘I don’t like the type of men who come to this house or the way that they look at you – and they are certainly not gentlemen like your father or the sort of man I would want you to marry.’

“‘No, of course not, Mama!’ I said quickly.

“‘That is why,’ Mama went on, ‘we have to decide what you should do when I die and who you should go to.’

“I thought for a moment and then I said,

‘“I suppose, although he might not really wish to, Uncle Richard will have me.’

“Mama was silent for a moment before she said, ‘Your stepfather will be your Guardian and I have the idea he would stop you from going to your uncle, even if you wanted to do so.’

“‘Why? Why should he do that?’ I asked.

“‘Because, dearest, he is jealous of Uncle Richard and I also think he should pay more attention to us.’

“Mama paused before she said in a low voice as if she was afraid of being overheard,

“‘If you want the truth – and it is only right that you should know – Uncle Richard has said that he does not like your stepfather and has no wish to entertain us or in fact to see us again.’

“I wondered about that,’' Helga said, “and I guessed there must have been a row of some sort, although I had not been told about it.”

“It certainly sounds like it,” Milly said. “What did your mother suggest you should do?”

“She said to me, ‘that leaves me with only one relation, my darling, and it is somebody you have never met.’

“I must have looked puzzled,” Helga said, “as she added, ‘it is your Aunt Millicent, my sister, who as you have been told ran away from home and has now become a famous figure on the stage’.”

Helga smiled and it seemed to illuminate her face.

“Of course I knew about you, Aunt Millicent, and I always thought that it was a thrilling story of how you had left Grandpapa’s house in the middle of the night and, having run away, became one of the beautiful Gaiety Girls.”

“I am surprised that you have heard about me,” Milly said, “because I changed my name and I thought no one would ever know.”

“But everybody knew!” Helga answered. “My Nanny used to talk about you in a whisper and Mama used to talk about you to Papa. She used to point out pictures of you in The Ladies Journal or one of the other magazines and, although she did not show them to me, I used to find them as soon as she went out and then I read everything about you.”

“I had no idea – ” Milly murmured.