Junia sat back and beamed at her. And Helen’s opinion of her mellowed still further. She probably could not help being a little haughty, considering who her mother was. The poor girl had clearly been taught that certain behaviour was expected of a young lady. But Helen was going to see to it that tomorrow, at least, she had the chance to break out in the direction her natural inclination carried her!
Then she turned to ‘Gabriel’.
‘You know, you do not have to say very much,’ she said, eyeing his script. ‘From what I have seen of the way Reverend Mullen has written it, you mostly have to stand there, looking imposing, while Junia recites the Magnificat.’
‘And keep the little angels in order,’ said Junia.
Many of the younger children, who could not be expected to learn lines, would be dressed as angels and simply moved about to represent the heavenly host watching over the events taking place in Bethlehem.
He sighed despondently. ‘They won’t mind me,’ he prophesied gloomily. ‘Nobody ever takes any notice of me.’
‘They might,’ said Helen on a burst of inspiration, ‘if you arm yourself with some treats as a reward for good behaviour.’
‘I say, Miss Forrest,’ he said, brightening up immediately, ‘that’s a capital notion. I might ask Cook for some jam tarts, or something!’
Helen had visions of half a dozen little angels, their faces smeared with jam. ‘Something like ginger snaps?’ she suggested. ‘Easier to stow in your pockets for distribution at the proper time. I shall go and have a word with Cook about it later on.’
How fortunate she had already mended fences below stairs, she reflected as Gabriel grinned at her.
Goodness! Helen was beginning to think she might have some natural talent when it came to dealing with children after all.
Chapter Seven
Alas, she had not so much success with adults!
The very moment she walked into the blue saloon that evening she felt out of place. And self-conscious because she had so badly misinterpreted Lord Bridgemere’s motives in singling her out for attention. Right now he was moving from one group of guests to another, playing the part of dutiful host. Something inside her squeezed painfully as she saw afresh that it was the duty of a good host to pay a little attention to each of his guests. And she had mistaken his willingness to spend a little of his time ensuring she enjoyed some of the beauty of his estate at dawn’s first light as personal interest in her. His subsequent attitude had shown her how he really viewed her.
And yet, even knowing this, she was still painfully aware of exactly where he was at any given moment. It was as though she was attuned to the low, melodious timbre of his voice. And, her attention having been caught, she could not prevent her eyes from seeking him out. And then she would feel deflated whenever she caught sight of the back of his head, his light brown hair gleaming in the candlelight. For he would always be intent upon somebody else. So far as he was concerned she might as well not exist.
It was even worse once they sat down to dine and she had an unimpeded view of him at the head of the table. For he talked quietly to those seated on his right hand, or his left.
And ignored her completely.
By the time the ladies withdrew, all Helen wished to do was escape to her bedchamber, where she might have some chance to wrestle her tumultuous feelings into submission.
But Lady Thrapston beckoned to her the moment she crossed the threshold, and she did not see how she could refuse her imperious summons to take a place on the sofa beside her.
Under cover of the noise her two daughters were making at the piano, Lady Thrapston fired her opening salvo.
‘I have been observing you,’ she said, with a grim smile. ‘And I feel obliged to warn you that your tactics will not work with Bridgemere.’
‘Tactics?’ Helen was so surprised that she hardly knew how to answer Lady Thrapston. They had a knack, she reflected wryly, Lord Bridgemere and his sister, of reducing her to parroting one or two words of their speech.
‘Do not play the innocent with me. You fool nobody with all that nonsensical talk about not wishing to marry! It is quite obvious that you have set your cap at Lord Bridgemere.’
Helen’s first instinct was to deny the allegation indignantly. She had just opened her mouth to make a pithy rejoinder when she heard her aunt laughing at something Lady Norton had said. And she closed her mouth abruptly. She must not let her temper get the better of her. Aunt Bella was still awaiting Lord Bridgemere’s verdict, and until then it would not do to create an even worse impression upon him than she had already done.
She contented herself by lifting her chin and glaring at Lady Thrapston.
‘Nothing to say for yourself?’ the haughty matron said. ‘But then what can you say in your defence?’
Helen wondered if she had just made a tactical error. For it looked as though Lady Thrapston thought her dart had gone home. Her next words confirmed it.
‘With my own eyes I have watched you making a spectacle of yourself. And let me tell you this. Fluttering your eyelashes at him over the soup plates is one thing, but it has come to my attention that you have now gone to the lengths of luring him to some out-of-the way spot in an attempt to compromise him.’
‘That is not true!’ Helen gasped. She had not done any luring! Lord Bridgemere had invited her to go out walking with him.
How dreadful that somebody had seen them and run to Lady Thrapston with such a tale. She felt quite sick that somebody disliked her enough to do such a thing, without a shred of evidence.
Especially since she would never dream of setting her cap at any man, or luring him into a compromising position.
But she had felt acutely disappointed that his attitude towards her had been so completely impersonal, she admitted to herself. And, her conscience whispered, she’d also had to chastise herself several times for entertaining inappropriate thoughts regarding Lord Bridgemere. Lady Thrapston had obviously noticed that she could not help finding him most attractive. Even when he had made it perfectly clear he was immune to her, she reflected with chagrin.
Her cheeks flushing guiltily, she said, ‘I am aware that His Lordship would never consider marrying someone like me.’
Lady Thrapston nodded grimly. ‘I trust you will remember that, my girl. If you know what is good for you, you will take care to keep well away from him for the remainder of your visit. It would not do for rumours of indecorous behaviour to accompany you to your new post, would it?’
Was this a threat? Helen reeled at the thought of the damage Lady Thrapston could do to her future if it was. A judicious word in her employer’s ear, from a woman of her rank, and her job could well disappear. Nor, if gossip spread about her supposed conduct, would it be easy for her to find another.
Helen wished she might make some clever, cutting rejoinder, but for once she knew it was imperative she keep her tongue between her teeth.
‘No,’ she whispered. She dared not risk antagonising Lady Thrapston, and have her spread unfounded gossip about her. What General Forrest had begun was bad enough.
‘You may return to your aunt,’ said Lady Thrapston, a small, but self-satisfied smile playing about her mouth.
She had the look of a woman who had just successfully put a designing trollop in her place, fumed Helen as she walked, stiff-legged and straight-backed, to her aunt, and sat down, her fists clenched in her lap.
It was so unfair!