Barbara Cartland - Running Away to Love

“Whatever’s upset you now, dearie?” she asked Ivana again.

Hesitatingly, her words tumbling over themselves, Ivana repeated to Nanny what she had just heard through the study door.

“I hate – Lord Hanford – I hate him , Nanny!” she cried. “When he – stares at me with that – look in his eyes, it – makes me feel sick! He has – only to – touch my hand to make me want to – scream!”

“It’s the most disgraceful thing I’ve ever heard!” Nanny exclaimed. “And your poor dear mother’d turn in her grave, that’s what she’d do.”

“I know – but Step-Papa is – my Guardian.”

“He’s a wicked man. He’s no right to think of acceptin’ anythin’ just so horrible and so degradin’!” Nanny snapped.

“It’s – the money – you well know it’s – the money,” Ivana said. “He spends everything we possess – and now there is little left – to sell.”

Nanny knew that this only too true.

Just yesterday she had ruminated tartly,

“If much more goes from this house, I’ll wake up to find my bed’s been taken from under me!”

All the pretty objet d’arts that Ivana’s mother had collected so diligently over the years had been sold off long ago and the pictures, the Dresden china and even the Persian rugs on the floor had gone as well.

Ivana knew that for weeks the Bank had been demanding that something must be done about the overdraft, which was continuing to grow week after week and month after month and the Bank was becoming more and more aggressive.

The tradesmen’s bills came in regularly with endless urgent messages attached to them demanding payment at once.

Ivana raised her head.

“I know what you are – thinking Nanny,” she said, “and I will – die rather – than become the m-mistress – of any man, let alone Lord Hanford.”

She stumbled over the word ‘mistress’ and then burst into floods of tears.

Nanny held her close.

“We’ll find some way out of this,” she said soothingly, “but only God knows what it can possibly be.”

“How can God – let this – happen to me?” Ivana asked. “How – can He?”

Nanny was silent for a moment and and then she suggested,

“You’ll have to run away, that’s what you’ll have to do!”

Ivana raised her head again.

She was so surprised at Nanny’s advice that she had stopped crying, but the tears were still wet on her cheeks.

Her eyes widened as she asked,

“R-run away? But – where to – Nanny?”

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to figure out,” Nanny answered. “You knows as well as I do that there’s no money for us to travel North to what relatives you have left and there’s few enough of them at any rate.”

Ivana knew only too well that what Nanny was saying was indeed true.

She had known when her mother had died that there were practically no relatives at the funeral.

Now that she was an orphan, she was very much alone.

Her beloved father, the Honourable Hugo Sherard, had been tragically killed at the Battle of Salamanca fighting against Napoleon in the Peninsula.

Her mother had been broken-hearted and for a year she had hardly spoken to anyone or taken any interest in anything that was going on around her.

Then Keith Waring had come into her life.

Although Ivana despised him, she had to admit to herself that he had made her mother, if not happy, comparatively content.

The Sherards came from Penrith in the North of England and her father’s brother, who was a good deal older than Hugo, had succeeded to the title of Lord Sherard.

He had written her mother a letter when her father had been killed and he had written to Ivana when he had learned of her mother’s death.

He had not, however, suggested that she should go to the North and live with him and his family.

She knew that he had a wife and children of his own and he doubtless had no wish to house an impoverished relative, besides which, it was a very long way to drive up to Penrith in the County of Cumberland.

At the moment anyway it would be impossible for her and Nanny to pay the fares they would be charged by one Post-chaise after another on the way North.

Ivana could think of none of her father’s friends who would wish to take her into their homes.

After her mother had married Keith Waring, she had not kept in touch with those friends she had known when they had lived in the country. Instead she knew only those people who her husband had introduced to her in London.

It was with her money that they had rented the house in Islington.

It was the furniture that had belonged to Hugo Sherard which was arranged in the small and, Ivana thought, rather pokey rooms.

Because they were in London, it enabled Ivana to attend a Seminary for young ladies to complete her education

She and her mother had also visited Museums and Art Galleries, which she had enjoyed a great deal.

Now that she thought of it, the only people they entertained had been the rather raffish friends of her stepfather.

And the majority of them were men.

“Where can we – go, Nanny?” she asked again this time in a whisper.

“I’m just thinkin’,” Nanny answered.

“Perhaps – as we have – no money at all,” Ivana proposed, “I ought to – try and find some – work to do.”

“I’m not havin’ you doin’ menial tasks,” Nanny countered, “not while I’m alive!”

“But we have to eat – and food costs money,” Ivana pointed out in a practical tone.

She sat back on her heels and then crossed her arms over Nanny’s knees.

“Now let’s think this out carefully,” she said. “We have to think quickly, because it is now Tuesday and that leaves only – two days before that – ghastly man will take me away in his – phaeton.”

The terror in her voice was very obvious and Nanny was aware that she was trembling.

She was not surprised.

Lord Hanford, she knew, was well over forty and he had already had two wives.

Although she had no intention of telling Ivana, it was rumoured that he was responsible for his second wife being certified as a lunatic.

The servants had gossiped that it was because he treated her in the same cruel way as he did his horses.

“There must be – something that I – can do,” Ivana was saying. “After all I have had an extensive education and – ”

She stopped and gave a little cry.

“But, of course!” she exclaimed. “I did the accounts in the country when Papa was in the War and, after he was killed, Mama left everything to me. I could be a secretary!”

Looking at her, Nanny thought it was very unlikely that anyone who looked as lovely as Ivana would be employed by a woman.

And if a man should do so, it would undoubtedly be dangerous.

“Perhaps,” she said after a moment, “you could be a reader to an elderly lady. After all they needs someone to read to them when they’re gettin’ old and goin’ blind and you have a really lovely reading voice.”

“That is what Mama used to say,” Ivana answered. “I would read the Collects to her on a Sunday and then the poems of Lord Byron. They made her cry because they reminded her of Papa.”

She sighed deeply and recalled how happy she had been reading to her mother before Keith Waring came into her life.

Then, as if forcing herself to be practical, she asked Nanny,

“How can I find out if there is a position out there waiting for me? Would there be an advertisement for a reader in the newspapers perhaps?”

“You have to go to an Employment Agency, dearie,” Nanny replied. “I’ll try and find out from Mrs. Bell downstairs which is the best one in London.”