Barbara Cartland - Helga in Hiding

“You looked so lovely in every picture,” Helga went on enthusiastically, “and I longed to meet you and to be able to boast about you to my friends. But Mama said that I was not to tell anybody outside the house who you were.”

“And yet your mother, before she finally died, told you to come to me,” Milly said in a surprised voice.

Helga looked away from her as she replied,

“It is – difficult to – tell you what h-happened ‒ ”

“Nevertheless I want to know,” Milly interrupted her quickly.

“My stepfather had never liked me,” Helga said frankly. “I think actually he was angry that Mama did not give him the son he so wanted and ‒ he resented it when she showed any affection for me.”

Helga’s voice broke as she went on,

“He used to – beat me whenever I did anything wrong – and often I think – just because he hated me for being there in the house with them.”

Milly drew in her breath, but she did not interrupt as Helga continued,

“It was when Mama was so ill that he began to look at me in a – way that made me afraid – then one day – I found out what he was planning.”

“What was that?” Milly asked.

“It was about ten days before Mama died,” Helga said. “I was reading in the library and thinking that he was out of the house, when I heard him come along the passage talking to somebody.”

She paused for a moment to catch her breath before she went on,

“Without really thinking, I then hid in a cupboard where lots of old maps and books were kept. I suppose it was a silly thing to do, but I did it instinctively because I always avoided Steppapa whenever it was possible.

“I left the door slightly ajar so that I could breathe and I knew the man who he was with whose voice I recognised was Bernard Howell. He was one of his closest friends who was always coming either to luncheon or dinner and whom I hated because I thought that he was cruel to his horses.”

“What do you mean – cruel?” Milly asked.

“He used his whip at the slightest provocation and spurred them too hard. I even heard the servants saying when they thought that I was not listening that, because he was so cruel to his wife, she committed suicide!”

Milly gave a little gasp, but she merely said impatiently,

“Go on.”

“First of all my stepfather poured out whisky for both of them,” Helga continued, “then, as they sat down in the big leather armchairs, Mr. Howell said,

“‘How is your wife?’

“‘Worse,’ my stepfather told him. ‘It is only a question of days’.”

“There was silence and then Mr. Howell asked,

“‘And when she dies, what do you intend to do about Helga?’

“‘What do you want me to do?’

“‘You know the answer to that, but your wife would never entertain such an idea.’

“‘As far as I am concerned,’ my stepfather said, ‘you can have her and the quicker the better! She irritates me. She always has.’

“‘I know that,’ Mr. Howell said. ‘I will be glad to take her off your hands and, as she will be in mourning, it will be a good excuse for a quiet Wedding in a Registry Office.’

“‘Then arrange it,’ Steppapa said, ‘and I wish you joy of her! She is an obstinate little brat! I have never been able to prevent her from defying me.’

“Bernard Howell laughed and it was a very unpleasant sound.

“‘She will find it a painful thing to do as far as I am concerned,’ he said. ‘I know exactly how to treat unbroken fillies whether they are horses or women.’

“I heard Steppapa put down his glass,” Helga said, “and he rose to his feet saying,

‘“Well, that is arranged. That was all I wanted to see you about.’

“They walked to the door and, when I heard them leave, I knew with a terror that made me want to scream that I had to run away.”

There was a note of fear in Helga’s voice that Milly did not miss.

Then she said slowly as if she was trying to collect her thoughts,

“I can understand what you are feeling, Helga, but are you quite sure it would be as bad as that? After all, if this Mr. Howell wants to marry you, it means that you will at least have a roof over your head and someone to look after you.”

“I would rather die than marry him!” Helga said passionately. “He is horrible, cruel, evil ! I can feel it vibrating from him whenever he comes near me.”

She gave a little sob and clasped her hands together as she stammered,

“Please – Aunt Millicent – help me. I will scrub the floors, do anything – anything rather than have to – marry a man like that.”

There was only a small silence before Milly said understandingly,

“Of course I will help you, but it is very difficult to know how to do so.”

As she spoke, she was thinking of how desperately poor she was herself and how many bills had accumulated since Christofer’s death.

Her rent was overdue, she owed money to a number of shops and, although the solution was staring her in the face in the shape of Sir Emanuel, she had hoped against hope that by a miracle something would turn up.

“I would not wish to be an – encumbrance,” Helga was saying humbly, “but I feel sure that there must be some way I can earn my living. After all, however poor we were, Mama saw that I was well-educated.”

“I am sure she did,” Milly said absentmindedly. “But what can you do?”

“I can play the piano – but not well enough to be professional,” Helga said. “I can sew, although it is not something I particularly enjoy. I can ride and I can tell fortunes!”

“Tell fortunes?” Milly echoed in astonishment. “How can you do that?”

Helga laughed and it was a very attractive sound.

“It all started when my Nanny used to try to tell fortunes by tea leaves,” she explained, “but what she said was usually wrong and I used to correct her and whatever I said came true! That meant that the other servants used to consult me and so did the people from the village, although Mama claimed that it was a lot of nonsense and I was not to encourage them.”

“It seems extraordinary,” Milly commented.

“I think a lot of it was really coincidence,” Helga said frankly. “Then one year when they were arranging the Church Fête the Vicar asked Mama if, to raise money for the Church, I would dress up as a gypsy and tell people’s fortunes for a shilling a time.”

“And your mother let you?”

“She said that she could hardly refuse as it was all in a good cause. If people were ready to believe such a lot of Fairytales, there was no reason why the Church should not benefit from it.”

“So what happened?”

“Everyone in the village said that everything I had told them came true. In fact one girl whom I had warned not to ride, however much she was tempted to do so, disobeyed me.”

Milly was listening intently as Helga carried on,

“She had an accident one day out riding and her leg was broken so badly that it had to be amputated. After that people said that I was a witch!”

“I am not surprised,” Milly said. “It certainly sounds very creepy.”

“It rather frightens me too,” Helga admitted, “but I just cannot help seeing things that are going to happen. Not always but when I concentrate on somebody, then, good or bad, I see the truth.”

“Well, you most certainly cannot become a fortune-teller in London,” Milly said quickly. “What we have to decide together is – ”

There was then a knock on the door that interrupted her.

“What is it?” she asked sharply.

“A gentleman to see you, miss, and he says it be ever so important!”

“I cannot see anybody, Joe!” Milly replied.

“It’s the Duke of Rocklington for you, miss, and he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”