by Edwards, Eve
Sebastian pushed the door to the garden open with the end of his stick, letting in a draught of cooler air. The air smelt fresh, clean. ‘I don’t think I’ll be making that mistake again.’
‘Don’t worry, I promised we’d look after you. One of us will be on hand to make sure you know all you need to know to have a lovely evening. I’ll see if the newspapers have arrived yet – give you something to amuse yourself when we’re dancing.’
‘Thank you.’ Sebastian had fallen into the habit of scanning the papers daily, fearing to read news about something happening to Helen’s hospital or his old comrades.
‘Can you put it behind you now, Sebastian?’
Struck by the odd note of Jilly assuming the position of caring for him in his own family home, Sebastian caught her gaze, her blue eyes ringed with a darker rim; she was looking at him with a warmth he hoped not to see. He adopted a brisk tone to deter her from getting any wrong-headed ideas about where their relationship was going. ‘That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Putting the war behind us for a night?’
‘Yes, one in the eye for the Kaiser,’ she agreed, looking a little confused by Sebastian’s response to her attentions. ‘Us British … ’
‘And Americans,’ he inserted, in honour of his father who had just entered the room.
‘… and Americans can still enjoy ourselves despite everything.’
He chuckled weakly, beckoning his father over to defend him against the local maidens. Somehow he knew that more would have to be said to clear things up with Jilly, but he would leave that just now. No need to create more sadness on a night designed to be a respite from it. ‘Amen to that. Jilly, had you better not get the ball started?’
Helen had been unable to prevent Innsworth collecting the London papers when he met the viscount at the station. She tried to tell herself she was worrying unnecessarily; her dismissal might still only be known to a few people in France. However, she couldn’t shake off the impression that the bundle behind her was a ticking time bomb. That was not her only problem. The carriage ride to Bewley House had given Helen time to realize that she was not dressed appropriately for an evening’s entertainment, particularly not a ball of the sort the viscount had described. She really should not have come. Who was she doing this for? Not for Sebastian – he would be embarrassed by her arriving in a shambles, unannounced. She had not thought this through at all.
‘Would it be possible,’ Helen asked as the carriage turned into the long, curling drive leading to the house, ‘for a message to be sent to Sebastian so I can meet him privately?’
‘Why would you deprive me of my reward?’ the viscount pouted.
‘Well, for one, I’m dressed for travel, not a dance.’
‘You look perfectly acceptable. I doubt Sebastian will notice what you are wearing once he glimpses your face.’
Maybe. But everyone else would.
‘And when you have greeted him, I’ll have a word with my sister and see if we can sort out something for you in the way of glad rags.’
‘You like arranging scenes, don’t you?’ The viscount was nothing like his nephew who would not play games with such cavalier disregard for the consequences. Her remark came out with an unintended hint of disapproval, but he laughed it off.
‘Of course, dear girl. Not much else to my life if truth be told. I’m the singularly most useless man in creation according to my father.’
Helen wondered why a man of thirty was still fretting over his father’s opinion of him. But then the aristocracy were different, all bound up by blood and breeding. ‘I really would rather wait outside. If this goes wrong, allow me to blame you.’
‘Absolutely, dear heart. My shoulders are well used to bearing the shame of failure.’ Conversation lapsed for a moment as the carriage rounded a bend revealing the house lit up for the evening. No blackout restrictions here. For a moment it looked like the house was on fire, every window ablaze with lights.
‘Father never does things by half, I’ll have to say that for the old coot,’ the viscount said genially.
The carriage rolled to a stop by the main entrance and an elderly footman unfolded the step. The viscount jumped out and turned to help Helen himself, pre-empting the servant. The butler came forward when he saw who had arrived.
‘Lord Fitzwarren, welcome home.’
‘Good evening, Masters. Is all the family here?’
‘Yes, sir. The ball …’
‘I know, I know, that’s why I’ve torn myself away from London. This is Miss Sandford. She’s a guest of my nephew, but I doubt she’ll be staying here. Ring White Towers to let them know they should prepare a room for her.’
Helen gulped. The viscount seemed so sure she would be welcomed to the family; then again, he seemed the sort of person who would make himself at home in any circumstances, demanding his due from a hostile Amazon tribe if his canoe got beached by their village, his supreme assurance enough to repel any poisoned dart.
A door further into the house opened, releasing a gust of music and laughter. Innsworth placed the newspapers on the hall table. Helen glanced over at them, wondering if she could accidentally-on-purpose set fire to them with one of the many candlesticks illuminating the foyer.
‘Miss, may I take your coat?’ Masters asked, having already relieved the viscount of his.
Helen unbuttoned her plain grey coat and shrugged out of the narrow sleeves with the butler’s help. Masters made no remark, but she knew her unadorned white blouse and dark blue skirt were not up to scratch. A footman passed through the foyer and took the top newspaper on a silver salver and headed into the ballroom.
Helen’s sense of panic went up a further notch. She had thought to rush the no man’s land until she reached Sebastian and then hold her position until he had given her a hearing. Somehow she suspected that the mess of a real social encounter in the ballroom, the newspaper already lobbed into the battleground, would not allow her tactics to unfold as she had hoped. ‘I really think we should wait. Tomorrow, I can see him tomorrow.’
‘Poppycock, dear girl. Deprive Sebastian of a whole night’s happiness? Never.’ Taking her firmly by the arm, the viscount guided her in the direction of the ballroom. The other guests must have come in by some other entrance for they only met servants hurrying to and fro with refreshments on the path he took. Reaching a pair of double doors, he pushed them open and strode in. Helen barely had time to take in the crowd. Girls were whirling in a kaleidoscope of beautiful dresses to the tune played by a string orchestra. Some darker figures revolved with them on the dance floor, older men spared military service, but many pairs were female, making up for the lack of partners. Older women and those who did not care to dance were seated along the walls, gossiping and watching the waltz with tepid interest. The viscount’s arrival proved to be of much more curiosity and Helen sensed that most eyes, even some on the dance floor, had turned to them.
‘Mother, Father!’ The viscount greeted an elderly couple seated along the centre of the wall facing the bank of windows that led to the garden.
The countess rose and kissed her son with absent-minded affection. ‘So you came.’
‘Of course. Not much happening in London but a few Zeppelin raids so I decided to rusticate for the weekend.’
‘Dear boy. You can help by partnering some of these lovely girls.’
‘That was my intention, I assure you.’ He shook his father’s hand.
‘About those bills, Tolly …’ the earl rumbled threateningly.
‘Later, sir, please. I have someone to deliver first.’ The viscount tugged Helen forward.
The countess raised her lorgnette t
o her eyes by its ornate handle and inspected the new arrival through the lens. ‘Who is she, Tolly?’
‘A nurse I scandalously kidnapped off the train.’
The countess raised her eyebrows.
‘A friend of Sebastian’s. I take it that he is here?’
The countess relaxed her suspicion now she knew Helen was nothing to do with her son and heir. ‘I think he is by the doors to the terrace.’
The viscount stood up to peer over the heads of the dancers. ‘Oh yes, I see him, surrounded by a bevy of beauties. Come, my dear, time you reclaimed your sweetheart before the maidens of Somerset set their caps at him.’
The crowd cleared and Helen could now see Sebastian, sitting like a prince at court, absorbed back into the society into which he had been born. A blonde girl perched beside him on a stool. She was holding his hand as if she had every right to it, laughing at his remarks and making it apparent to the other pretenders to her position that she was not surrendering her place. What could a disgraced nurse, a working girl like herself, offer him compared to that cool beauty at his side?
Then, to Helen’s horror, she saw the footman offer Sebastian the newspaper. He shook it out and then his expression changed. He began reading the front page avidly.
Oh God. It was too late already.
The panic Helen had barely contained since being wrongly accused broke through. Innocent but condemned. German but British. She couldn’t get anything right. Flora had told her already: she had built dreams of matchsticks while all around her the deck was burning. Her sister had been wiser to the ways of the world and Helen had been so, so foolish to hope it would prove otherwise for her.
Chaos such as filled her should not be brought into the ballroom; she, the dingy moth, wings battered and frayed after war’s capture, had no place among these refined butterfly women.
She should never have come.
The hunt ball had reached its zenith – wine, food and gossip all in full flood. That was why Sebastian was surprised when the twittering girls gathered round his chair fell silent, allowing the gentle strains of Strauss’s Love Songs waltz to wash over him. At least antipathy to Germany had not extended to its music. He was feeling sleepy, tired of conversation and noise after a long convalescence at home, and wished very much that he could excuse himself and go to bed. Jilly kept a hold on his hand to prod him awake when his head nodded, but it was no good. He wouldn’t last much longer.
The footman offered him the newspaper. ‘This just arrived, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ He unfolded it and smoothed it out on his lap. ‘You can go dance now, Jilly. I’ll be quite content reading this.’ He was eager to get rid of her; she was far too possessive in a very public context. He didn’t want to have to spend the rest of the year explaining to friends and family that there was nothing going on between them.
His eye fell on a headline to an article near the bottom of the page. German nurse exposed working in British hospital. How odd. He started reading it with a vague interest which rapidly turned to cold horror. Helen Abendroth Sandford. Her name splashed all over the article. Pills. Black market. Betrayal of trust. No, no, it made no sense.
‘Sebastian, is something the matter?’ Jilly’s eyes dipped to the article. ‘Is there bad news?’ He wanted to hide it – destroy every paper in the kingdom – but he was too slow. ‘Isn’t that your nurse? The one you write to?’ She twitched the article from his fingers. ‘Good Lord! Oh, Seb, I’m so sorry. You must feel so betrayed by her.’
‘It’s lies.’ Sebastian’s voice grated in his dry throat.
Jilly gave him a pitying look.
In his shock, it took him a moment to register that the young ladies around him had each subtly reorientated their bodies, sunflowers chasing the sun, moving away from him, the wounded soldier, to the able-bodied heir apparent striding towards them.
‘Little Sebastian!’ Tolly insisted on calling his nephew ‘little’ even though Sebastian had an inch on him these days. ‘Glad to see you are still in the land of the living.’
‘Just about.’ Sebastian struggled to remember his company manners. He had to go to Helen – had to help her – but at the moment he was stuck in a stupid ballroom.
The girls parted, dipping curtseys to the viscount, which he acknowledged with an amiable smile for each and every one. He had always dealt with the adulation of the local ladies by being scrupulously charming to all; he reserved his more scandalous behaviour for less observant London society.
‘I’ve brought you a present.’ Tolly made a show of patting his pockets. ‘Now, where did I put it? Ah, yes.’ He turned. ‘Good Lord: where’s she gone?’
‘Who, Tolly?’
‘She was here a moment ago, old chap. A darling little nurse by the name of Helen something.’
The blood drained from Sebastian’s face. ‘Helen! Where?’ She was here – but she should still be in France, fighting these accusations. Was Tolly joking?
‘Sorry, old boy, looks as though she’s run for cover. Shy little thing: she’ll turn up again, I’ve no doubt.’ Tolly gave a shrug, dismissing the matter. ‘Never mind: plenty more fish as they say.’ He cast around him and offered to dance with the nearest lady, who accepted with a jubilant smile.
Damn Tolly for not caring. Sebastian wanted to run from the room before Helen got away, but his wretched leg wouldn’t allow him. ‘Find her for me, Jilly!’
She paused just for a moment before patting his shoulder reassuringly. ‘Of course. I’ll do what is necessary, don’t you worry.’
Helen had rushed back the way she came, almost colliding with the butler.
‘Anything the matter, miss?’ he had asked kindly.
Yes, everything. Her courage had fled. The London paper had already arrived. Everyone would turn and look on her with scorn, criticizing Sebastian for having once cared for a traitor. How could she defend herself to Sebastian in the middle of a ballroom, for heaven’s sake? He shouldn’t be saddled with her disgrace; he needed to move on, be with someone worthy of him. She thought painfully of the girl holding his hand; it seemed he may already have done so.
She choked back a sob. ‘My coat, please.’
‘Certainly, miss. Shall I phone White Towers and let them know you are coming?’
‘No, no, I’ll … No.’
‘Masters, what is this young person doing in the hall? Servants use the side entrance.’ A formidable lady came down the stairs with the resolute steps of a general about to review his troops.
‘Lady Gertrude, this lady is a friend of the viscount.’
‘I think that highly unlikely, though Tolly is likely to try and embarrass us all so perhaps you are right. What do you mean by coming here dressed like that, girl?’
Helen buttoned her coat. ‘Mean? I … I don’t understand.’
Lady Gertrude rolled her eyes. ‘If you do not understand, then it is useless for me to explain. He’s not going to give a girl like you any serious thought. If you’ve come here planning to get him to present you to us, then you had better think again.’
‘What? Sebastian?’
‘No, Tolly! The viscount to you, young lady. Sebastian is already spoken for so you can stop imagining anything from that direction either.’
‘He is?’
‘Yes. Ah, here she is.’
The girl who had sat at Sebastian’s side hurried into the hall.
‘Jilly, was this young woman on your guest list?’ asked Lady Gertrude.
Jilly Glanville marched up to Helen. ‘How dare you come here!’
‘I’m here to see Sebastian,’ murmured Helen, but that safe haven seemed to be receding �
� a dream only.
‘You are a disgrace. Is it not enough to be dismissed from your position for stealing?’
‘What’s this?’ Lady Gertrude signalled to the butler. He took a firm hold of Helen’s arm. ‘She’s stolen something. Check her pockets.’
‘No, you misunderstand, Lady Gertrude,’ Miss Glanville said, bristling with outrage. ‘It’s far worse than that. She’s front-page news. A German masquerading as a British nurse who has been stealing medicines.’
Lady Gertrude’s face turned pale with fury. ‘Then what is she doing here? She should be in prison.’
‘She wheedled her way into Sebastian’s affections when he was injured – she’s come to use his connections and money, I expect, to help her out of her difficulties.’
‘I’ll call the constable.’ Lady Gertrude headed for the telephone on the hall table.
‘No, no, please, it isn’t like that.’ It was happening all over again – condemned with no proof, without even a hearing. Helen felt like she was trapped in a nightmare. ‘I’m innocent. I haven’t done anything.’
Lady Gertrude’s hand hovered over the receiver. ‘Are you this German nurse or not?’
‘Helen Abendroth Sandford,’ supplied Jilly.
‘Half German,’ said Helen. But what was the point?
‘She’s been writing to Sebastian for months. You know how vulnerable he is at the moment. It would not be hard for a female like her to get her claws in him. If she’s arrested here, he’ll find out, try and save her when she deserves everything she gets for what she’s done. Boys like Neil are dying, but she abuses her position to cheat them!’
Lady Gertrude stepped back from the table. ‘Yes, you are right, Miss Glanville. We must get rid of her immediately. Send her to London, send her to perdition, I don’t care as long as it keeps her away from my nephew. Masters?’
‘Yes, my lady?’