Helena half expected Lord Carningsby to come storming out of the drawing room after them – but it appeared her boldness had stunned him to such an extent that he dared not follow as Helena and Mary made their way hastily upstairs.

"Let us aim to leave within the half hour," muttered Helena urgently as they made to head off towards their respective bedchambers. "I shall ask Dorothy to arrange for the carriage to be prepared – we can trust her to be discreet and not breathe a word to anyone."

Mary nodded, appearing rather calm for one about to make a hasty and secret departure for London. Then again, realised Helena, she must be quite used to fleeing without notice by now.

"What will you tell Lord Alverton?" asked Mary suddenly.

Helena's stomach clenched unpleasantly. While she felt no guilt at all for leaving Lord Carningsby rejected and furious in the drawing room, the only reservation she had about journeying to London with Mary was the unbearable pain she knew it would cause her father. Poor Lord Alverton would already be distraught to learn that Helena had refused Lord Carningsby's proposal; once he realised that she had left Alverton Hall unannounced, he would likely be beside himself with fury and worry.

But if Helena attempted to explain the situation to her father, he would only attempt to dissuade her from leaving – and Helena was quite determined that nothing should change her mind about her promise to help Mary and Margaret.

"It is better that Papa remain unaware," said Helena now, doubting her words even as she spoke them. "It would take far too long to convince him that we should go, and we haven't the time for that."

Mary nodded, clearly unwilling to challenge Helena on such a matter.

"And Sir Edmund?" asked Mary hesitantly.

Helena sighed miserably at the hopeful expression on Mary's face.

"It is best that he should not know, either," replied Helena reluctantly. "He is such an honourable gentleman, you know – he would find it impossible to refrain from alerting Papa."

A flicker of disappointment passed briefly across Mary's face, but it was replaced almost instantly by a grim look of determination.

"Very well," she agreed. "Let us leave via the servants' entrance in half an hour – it will be easier to make our exit unnoticed that way."

Helena nodded, half feeling as though she were dreaming, before heading into her chambers to ring the bell for Dorothy.

She was truly going through with this – there was no going back now.

***

It was too easy, really – the entire thing went far too smoothly. Helena, ever the pessimist, half expected a servant to catch them as they snuck out of the back entrance before bundling themselves hastily into the waiting carriage. Even as they began to trundle up the driveway, Helena twisted anxiously in her seat, sure of seeing a mutinous Sir Edmund charging down the front steps of Alverton Hall to thwart their attempted escape.

But nobody came. Just like that, they were fleeing Alverton Hall, completely unnoticed.

Mary seemed quite content to stare silently out of the window, so Helena resisted the temptation to fill the silence with mundane chattering, as she usually would when anxious. Instead, she watched intently as the countryside passed by the window, the carriage conveying them away from Helena's home county, and everything she had ever known.

Alone with her thoughts, seeds of doubt were planted in Helena's mind. Had it really been the wisest idea to leave without informing Lord Alverton? Her father's state of health was fragile, after all; what would it do to him to learn that his only child had betrayed him not only in his wishes for her marriage, but in gallivanting off to London, too? Would he despair, or – heaven forbid – take ill? Whatever the outcome, it would cause her father an unnecessary burden of stress.

Helena could not ever remember having disobeyed her father before. Nay, she could not ever remember disobeying anybody! All her life, she had sought simply to please: her parents, Sir Edmund, Lord Carningsby, Joseph's family, and the list went on. Never before had Helena actually made a decision simply because she chose to – not until this morning, when she had simultaneously eschewed Lord Carningsby and embarked on a journey into the unknown with Mary.

It was utterly terrifying; of that there was no doubt. But it also felt rather freeing; far more exhilarating than anything Helena could have dreamt to experience whilst confined within the walls of Alverton Hall. For the first time in all her life, Helena was acting upon something she believed in.

Unfortunately, Helena's newfound enthusiasm began dwindling sometime during the afternoon, evaporating entirely by the time darkness fell. They had by now journeyed as far as the outskirts of Coventry, and they would soon be in need of a place to stay for the evening; the poor Alverton horses were likely thoroughly worn out by now.

Helena cleared her throat nervously, jolting Mary's attention back to the present.

"I suppose we had better find a place to rest for the night," suggested Helena uncertainly, realising as she spoke that she had no idea where one would spend the night whilst travelling. It would be common to stay with a friend, she supposed – but Helena's friends all resided near Alverton.

"Yes, you are right," replied Mary, without glancing away from the window. "Oh, what luck! I believe I see an inn just up ahead. Let us alert the drivers of our wish to alight here."

"Oh – ah, yes, alright," gabbled Helena.

An inn; of course! What a sensible idea! There would be room for the horses to rest, and a bed each for them to rest comfortably for the night. With raised spirits, Helena signalled to the drivers that they wished to stop, and waited for them to assist her out of the carriage.

Upon taking in their surroundings, however, Helena's heart fell. They were standing before what appeared to be nothing more substantial than a stone shack, which stood on an otherwise completely deserted, dingy lane. A candle or two burnt at a couple of the windows up above, yet the light offered no warmth or invitation. Helena shivered unpleasantly; a mixture of cold and misgiving.

"Well, then – shall we go in?" prompted Mary, who, Helena noted, did not seem to be experiencing the same sort of apprehension.

After hastily asking the servants to tend to the horses, Helena reluctantly followed Mary into the uninviting building.

The first thing Helena noticed upon entering the inn was the unmistakable, overpowering stench of ale. A wave hit her as soon as she crossed the threshold, only intensifying as they crossed the room to the bar where the innkeeper was attempting to refill several tankards at once. Helena fought the urge to bolt from the place entirely as she glanced about at the assortment of drunkards currently occupying the place. There was one group which she eyed with particular caution; they swayed and guffawed into their drinks as they hungrily eyed the pair of ladies who had just entered.

"Two rooms for tonight, please," requested Mary confidently as they reached the bar, laying a handful of coins down on the scratched wooden surface.

The innkeeper leered unpleasantly as he regarded his two potential guests.

"Very well, Miss," he replied, in an oily sort of voice which matched his horribly unkempt hair. "Are you sure it's safe for a pair of young ladies such as yourselves to be out alone on these roads?"

"We are not alone – we have come with our servants," replied Helena primly, aware too late that the mention of servants had pricked the attention of those awful men in the corner.

"I don't see no servants," commented the innkeeper.

"They are out tending to the horses," Mary told him firmly. "In fact, why do you not show my companion up to our room while I see where they have got to?"

Helena widened her eyes in panic, unwilling to be left alone with any of these men – but Mary seemed oblivious of Helena's distress. There was no other option but for Helena to tentatively follow the bobbing of the innkeeper's candle out of the bar towards the narrow, rickety staircase which led up to the rooms, clutching her skirts about her as she attempted to avoid touching the grimy bannister.

"There's one room 'ere, and another down the corridor," grunted the innkeeper, pointing into the gloom where Helena could just make out another doorway.

"Thank you," squeaked Helena, as the innkeeper handed her the candle and stooped his back in what she supposed was a bow, before shuffling off towards the staircase, leaving Helena completely alone.

With a heavy sigh, Helena prised open the stiff, heavy door before her with one hand, grasping the candle firmly in the other. Stepping into the cold, narrow room, the stench of damp infiltrated her senses as she took in a pair of uncomfortable-looking beds illuminated by the pool of candlelight. Shivering as her breath misted in front of her, Helena turned her candle towards the dying embers in the grate, wishing she knew how to stoke a fire. Thankfully Mary would be sure to know – Helena would simply have to wait for her to return.

Squatting awkwardly on one of the musty beds and hugging her knees to her chest in an attempt to keep warm, Helena wondered, yet again, what on earth she was doing here. Never in her life had she known such fear and discomfort – this filthy hovel was no place for the Earl of Alverton's daughter! Why, oh why had she decided now would be the best time to be bold and think for herself? Why could she not have taken a less dangerous first step – something like reading a book on politics, perhaps!

Helena sighed with relief upon hearing a knock at the door. Mary; at last!

Scrambling to her feet, Helena instantly crossed the room and flung the door open, thankful for some company – but when she saw who was standing in the corridor outside, Helena gasped in terror.

It was not Mary at all, but rather the horrible men Helena had spotted in the corner of the tavern. Grouped around the doorway, completely blocking her exit, the men towered above her, far burlier and more menacing than Helena had remembered. Cowering at the sight of their delighted expressions, Helena felt her heartrate accelerate and her chest constrict in panic.

"May I help you?" she asked, attempting to keep her voice level as she stuffed her shaking hands inside the folds of her cloak.

To her horror, this only seemed to amuse the men further.

"Right posh, ain't she?" guffawed the man nearest to her, with a round face and tiny, piggy eyes.

"Who does she think she is?" added another gleefully, lisping through his few remaining rotten teeth. "The King's daughter?"

Helena's face flushed uncomfortably. Hearing these thugs speak with such disrespect towards their monarch was a peculiar thing indeed; Helena had always thought the monarchy and nobility to be revered by the common people. To find this was not the case came as a very nasty shock, and Helena began to wonder if she had perhaps been very naïve indeed. Were there people such as these in Alverton, speaking disrespectfully about Lord Alverton and herself?

There was no time to consider such matters now, for Helena had become painfully aware that the men were creeping slowly over the threshold of the room. Next to these men, Lord Carningsby was about as terrifying as a tiny puppy; Helena realised the danger she had felt at being alone with the baron earlier today was nothing compared to the genuine fear for her life she felt now.

"I will ask you kindly to take your leave," said Helena, in a feeble attempt at sounding fierce. This time she was expecting the howls of mirth from the men, but it did not hurt any less.

"I think not, my lady," murmured the third man softly. He stood slightly in front of the other two, clearly the ringleader, and the glint in his impossibly black eyes sent an icy shiver down Helena's spine.

"If you even think of shouting for help," he continued, as if reading Helena's thoughts, "we'll make you wish you hadn't."

Helena didn't doubt that they would.

She was trapped; helpless to escape. There was no way she would succeed in overpowering the strength of these three brutes – and even if she managed to slip past them, where would she run to? Mary was still outside – they would surely outrun her before Helena could make it down the stairs. With bile rising in her throat, Helena realised there was nothing she could do to prevent these wicked men from having their way with her.

They swayed towards her, stench of ale fanning Helena's face, and she desperately fought back the urge to scream. Stomach swirling with utter terror, Helena gasped in pain as the round-faced man grasped her roughly by the wrist, dragging her into the room and forcing her roughly down onto the bed.

"Please," she sobbed desperately, wrists stinging with pain as she attempted to twist herself out of his grasp. "Please, leave me alone!"

It was no use. The more she struggled, the tighter the horrid man's grip on her hands became, and she found herself biting down on her lip to keep from crying out in pain. Feeling her energy waning, Helena's head began to swim as the room grew faint around her. She was losing consciousness...

I'm sorry, Papa, Helena found herself thinking fuzzily, before the blackness consumed her entirely.

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A/N: I have no words D:

Thoughts? Rants? Exclamations of shock/horror? Leave them all below!