A Lady's Fate

Chapter Nine

Helena had not thought it possible for anyone to be having a worse night than her. Yet upon realising who she had bumped into, Miss Thorpe visibly flinched with the appearance of a person caught in the act of a heinous crime.

"I..."

Miss Thorpe appeared unable to go any further. Refusing to meet Helena's gaze, her face glowed the same colour as her hair as she hung her head, concealing her expression.

"You seem to have made a remarkable recovery, Miss Thorpe," commented Helena.

She knew it was dreadful, really – but Helena almost relished the opportunity to be angry. All the pain of heartbreak and fury towards Sally Godwin was simmering away in the pit of her stomach, and now, faced with Miss Thorpe, who had caused her so much trouble, Helena found it directed instead towards the young girl.

"I..." attempted Miss Thorpe again.

She slowly raised her head – and started as she took in Helena's tearstained face.

"Lady Helena!" she gasped. "What is it?"

Helena was about to chastise Miss Thorpe for attempting to change the subject, when suddenly there was the sound of pounding feet upon the stairs.

Sir Edmund.

Making a split-second decision, Helena took Miss Thorpe by the arm.

"In here," she hissed, pulling a surprised Miss Thorpe into her bedchamber and shutting the door behind them, just as Sir Edmund's footsteps were heard outside.

Motioning for Miss Thorpe to remain quiet, Helena moved slowly back towards the door.

"Thank you, Dorothy," she said loudly. "I think I simply need a quiet, undisturbed night of rest."

Helena waited, holding her breath – and sure enough, after a few seconds Sir Edmund's footsteps disappeared off down the corridor.

Turning back towards the centre of the room, Helena found Miss Thorpe regarding her with a puzzled expression.

"He is a dear – but I am in no state to be seen by a gentleman at present," explained Helena.

Miss Thorpe said nothing. She stood stiffly at the foot of Helena's enormous four-poster bed, face still concealed by a thick, grey hood.

With a sigh, Helena crossed the room and took a seat in one of the fireside armchairs, regarding Miss Thorpe with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, Miss Thorpe – I think you had better remove that cloak and join me here," suggested Helena, although they were both well aware there was no option of refusal.

With a longing glance towards her only escape route, Miss Thorpe reluctantly removed her cloak, casting it aside on Helena's bed. Shaking out her red curls, she made her way slowly over to the fireplace.

"The first thing you ought to know," began Miss Thorpe, taking the vacant armchair, "is that, if we are being truthful this evening, you should not address me as 'Miss Thorpe'."

"Then how do you suggest I should address you?" smirked Helena.

"I am not Miss Thorpe, milady. My name is Mary Preston – I am Miss Thorpe's lady's maid."

A maid?

For a moment, Helena thought she must have misheard – but deep down, she realised it made perfect sense. Miss Thorpe's unladylike way of speaking; her lack of manners; her inability to dance a single step correctly – it all fitted! No wonder Helena had mistaken her for a maid upon her arrival; that was exactly what Miss Thorpe was!