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!

No, not Miss Thorpe, Helena corrected herself. Her blood boiled at the thought of having been deceived all this time; at having been taken for a fool as she graciously welcomed Mary into her home.

"If you are here – then where is the real Miss Thorpe?" demanded Helena.

The maid hesitated a moment before replying.

"London," she replied eventually.

"And why, pray tell, is your mistress in London, while you are masquerading as a guest in my home?" snapped Helena, eyes flashing.

Mary visibly flinched at the sharpness in Helena's tone. Shrinking into the elegant gown which had been gifted to her by Helena for Christmas, Mary looked as though she wished to disappear from view entirely.

"It is the only way," she murmured, almost inaudibly. "It is the only way to ensure Margaret's safety."

"Her safety?" echoed Helena, unable to take the dramatic declaration seriously.

Mary nodded.

"Well, Mary," sighed Helena reluctantly. "I think you had better start at the beginning, and explain just what is going on."

This, at least, was familiar territory for Helena. She had lost count of the times she and Dorothy had occupied these very chairs as Helena coaxed one woe or another out of her lady's maid. Whatever Mary told her, Helena felt confident she would be able to offer some assistance. There was not one problem of Dorothy's she had not been able to alleviate in some way – a record Helena was very proud of.

But what came next was far beyond the realms of anything Helena had ever experienced before.

"Last summer – when the late Mr and Mrs Thorpe were still alive – Mr Laurence Roach, the future heir of Lanmeth House, came to visit," began Mary.

"This gentleman took an immediate interest in Margaret; too much of an interest for my liking," continued Mary. "They spent almost all their time together, and I knew they were kissing and such things a lady ought not to do with a man other than her husband. But even I could not believe the true extent of their dalliance – not until the following month, when Margaret discovered she was with child.

"Thankfully my late master and mistress, God rest their souls, never learnt of their daughter's mistake. That is the only blessing – for I fear they would never have recovered from the shock and shame of their only child's demise. As it was, they were never to hear of the news, for they were tragically killed in a carriage accident as they returned north to Yorkshire following a summer in Brighton.

"At the time of Mr and Mrs Thorpe's passing, I alone knew of Margaret's condition. We had been planning on how best to conceal it from the other staff at Lanmeth House, when one morning a letter arrived from Mr Roach, who was now, of course, the owner of Lanmeth House and the late Mr Thorpe's entire estate. He claimed, however, that the value of the estate was insufficient to meet his needs – for over the past few months, he had run up a large amount of gambling debts which now required urgent repayment.

"He wrote to demand payment of an additional fund which he had known Mr Thorpe to have – Margaret's dowry. He informed us that he would be journeying to Lanmeth House directly, in order to begin his role as master of the house, taking Margaret as his bride.

"This in itself was terrifying enough – yet still worse was the realisation that there was no dowry. Well, there had been a dowry, but Mr Roach had inherited it upon Mr Thorpe's death – therefore there was no additional money to be found at Lanmeth Hall that he did not already own. We were terrified of what Mr Roach would do upon discovering that there was no money – especially once he discovered Margaret was carrying his child – and so, when the letter came from Lord Alverton inviting Margaret to stay, we decided that I should come in her place, while she fled to London. If Mr Roach does somehow discover that Margaret was asked to stay here, he will find only me, while Margaret remains safe in London."

Helena's mind was reeling, as she desperately struggled to comprehend this immense revelation. How could Mary have possibly have kept such information to herself until now? How could she even go about her daily business, knowing that every day a monster of a man may come galloping up the drive of Alverton Hall intending to claim her mistress' money and freedom? Meanwhile, Margaret herself was...

"In London, you say?" echoed Helena. "And where, pray tell, has Margaret taken lodgings?"

Helena had never visited London, but from what she had heard, it was a vast, bleak and dirty city – not a friendly location for a vulnerable young lady alone and expecting. She hoped to goodness that Margaret had gone to stay with a friend, for the thought of the young girl attempting to seek accommodation alone caused Helena to shudder with fright.

"Her letters to me are sent from an area known as Spitalfields," replied Mary, "where she has secured work in one of the many textile factories there."

"You have received word from her, then – that is something," said Helena with relief. "When do you expect that the child will be born?"

Mary's face fell.

"We are not entirely sure – but by my estimates, I believe sometime in March, milady. That is but three months away – I fear her stomach will have begun to swell, and then it will be impossible to conceal her condition from those in the factory."

"You believe they will dismiss her, if they discover she is expecting?" questioned Helena. That seemed unlikely; who would send away a poor young woman soon to be in desperate need of money to look after a child? What a barbaric notion!

Mary, however, regarded Helena with a grim smile.

"That is the way of the world, milady," she replied harshly. "Of what concern is a pregnant woman to a factory owner? In a month or two she will not be able to work as quickly as another woman could – and once the baby is born, she will be forced to work fewer hours or bring the baby with her to work. Why, then, would the factory wish to keep Margaret in their employ?"

Helena flushed, feeling rather naïve indeed. As the mistress of Alverton Hall, she would never dream of turning a pregnant maid out onto the streets! But then, realised Helena, she had money enough to keep the maid even if she were not able to work for a few months. For the factory owners, however, whose prime motive it was to make profit, workers were clearly viewed as resources rather than people, each completely interchangeable.

It was at this moment that Helena truly realised how little of the world she had seen. For her, life had consisted almost entirely of running Alverton Hall – her own orderly, enclosed little world where everything was perfect and everyone looked after. The weary expression on Mary's face told Helena of a far tougher existence than Helena could ever imagine; a world in which a pregnant young lady could be cast aside without a second thought. It seemed Helena had a great deal to learn about what lay beyond Lord Alverton's estate.

"What are Margaret's intentions, then?" asked Helena. "Once the time comes for the child to be born?"

Mary's face crumpled.

"I do not know, milady," she whispered. "I do not believe Margaret knows. We left with such haste that future plans were not discussed – and when she writes me, she does not speak of it. It is not my place to question my mistress' wishes, milady – but I grow ever more fearful by the day. Soon it will not be a problem to be dealt with far in the future; as the due date approaches, so Margaret's vulnerability grows. I am terrified for her wellbeing, milady! I could not bear it should something happen to her!"

In that moment, confronted as she was by Mary's outpouring of emotion, Helena did something which took both of them completely by surprise. In two swift, graceful movements, she had left her armchair and enveloped the distraught young girl in a reassuring embrace.

Mary stiffened for a moment before allowing her tense shoulders to relax with a heavy sigh. Perhaps we are not so dissimilar after all, thought Helena – clearly Mary, too, was not usually one for allowing her vulnerabilities to show.

But there was only so much strain one person could tolerate – and this past month Mary had evidently been under far greater pressure than Helena thought possible for any one person to endure. Helena was therefore more than willing to simply sit in complete silence with Mary as she sobbed uncontrollably, gently squeezing the girl's hand as a reminder to Mary that she was not alone.

Eventually the tears subsided, leaving Mary's eyes swollen and her face flushed. Returning to her senses, she desperately wiped the remaining moisture away from her cheeks, as if wishing to remove all trace of evidence.

"We will help you," murmured Helena softly, giving Mary's tiny hand another squeeze with her white gloved one. "My father and I. Once he hears of this dreadful situation, I am sure he will aspire to do everything in his power to be of assistance to your poor friend."

Mary shook her head.

"I am so incredibly grateful for your kindness, milady," she stuttered, "especially after the trouble I have caused you. But though nothing would please me more, I cannot accept your offer of assistance."

Helena frowned, puzzled.

"Why ever not?"

"Despite attempting to convince Margaret otherwise, she is adamant that I must not ask a soul for help. I am disobeying her wishes this very moment by informing you of her whereabouts – to betray her another time would be more than I could bear."

"But you are endangering Margaret more by not accepting my help!" cried Helena in frustration, hoping if she could make her point with enough force Mary would have to be persuaded.

"Yes, I am well aware," snapped Mary, growing frustrated herself now. "Do you not think it pains me each and every day to know I could very easily have her from that wretched place in a week, if only she were not so stubborn?"

"Then surely she will understand!" implored Helena desperately. "Once she is safe and well, with a healthy baby, she will forgive you, Mary – I am certain of it!"

Both women spoke with raised voices now, but Helena hardly cared about waking the household. All that mattered was finding a way of making Mary see sense.

"She is my mistress, milady," replied Mary. "Though our relationship may be closer than a typical lady and her maid, I am still directly answerable to her. She has asked me to refrain from seeking help; I must adhere to her wishes."

As her relationship with her own dear Dorothy came to mind, Helena finally conceded.

"Very well," she sighed, against her best wishes. "It is clear your position on the matter will not be altered."

"Thank you for your understanding, milady."

"However," continued Helena, "I must entreat you to write Margaret one final time expressing your concern for her. As her pregnancy nears its end, Margaret's views on accepting assistance may well change."

"As you wish, milady," replied Mary, clearly thinking it a pointless endeavour.

They were silent for a moment, each processing the evening's unexpected events. Suddenly, though, Mary started, as if something had just occurred to her.

"You were distressed, milady," she realised. "When you came in – before you met me on the corridor. What was it that had upset you?"

Somehow, incredibly, Helena had managed to forget. With the extraordinary revelation of Mary's true identity, Helena had been able to cast aside her heartbreak completely for a little while.

Now, though, it all came flooding back – all at once, and far more painful than before. Gloved hands clenching into tiny fists, Helena fought desperately against the solid weight pressing against her windpipe, rendering it near impossible to breathe.

"You have been good enough to listen to my woes this evening," Mary told her, those vivid green eyes shining earnestly. "Will you not allow me to do the same for you?"

Helena closed her eyes, shaking her head. Kind though it was for Mary to offer, Helena did not feel talking would help. It would not change anything, after all; it would not miraculously cause Joseph to fall in love with her.

Realising suddenly how thoroughly exhausted she felt, Helena decided the best thing for her to do was sleep.

"That is very kind, Mary," she told her gratefully, "but I am afraid I already know the solution to my predicament, so there is nothing left but for me to face up to it."

Mary's eyes widened, no doubt wondering what sort of predicament it was that Helena faced – but to her credit, she did not press the issue.

"It is terribly late," murmured Helena, "and we are both worn out. I think some sleep is what we both need."

Recognising this as a dismissal, Mary got to her feet, before pausing, an uncomfortable flush creeping up her neck.

"I shall gather my possessions relocate upstairs to the maids' quarters," she whispered.

Helena pursed her lips.

"I do not think that will be necessary, Mary," she replied. "I see no particular need for the details of this conversation to leave the walls of these chambers. Margaret wishes for you to remain here as 'Miss Thorpe' – so I think it best if everyone still believes you to be her."

"If you are certain..."

"I am perfectly certain. Good night, Mary - sleep well."

With that Mary took her leave, and Helena was finally alone.

Undressing herself for bed without bothering to call for Dorothy, she mulled over all that had happened this evening. Though she couldn't have known it at the time, Helena now felt exceedingly guilty for her lack of patience at Mary's peculiar behaviour. One thing was certain, though: Helena would not be sending Mary away as Lord Carningsby had requested.

Which meant that Helena would be refusing Lord Carningsby's proposal, when he eventually made it, letting her father down to such an extent that their relationship may well be irreparable. What's more, Helena no longer had the foolish prospect of marrying Joseph to make it even slightly worth it – she would more than likely die a spinster.

All this Helena would have to face – but she would do it more than willingly, if that meant she could in some way protect poor Miss Thorpe and her baby from the evil Mr Roach.

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A/N: Sooo - there we have it! Mary is actually Miss Thorpe's maid, and the real Miss Thorpe is hiding in London from the evil Mr Roach. He sounds like a nasty piece of work, doesn't he?

This chapter is dedicated to BlackButterflyRose48 , the first person to guess that Margaret is pregnant! Please vote or comment if you enjoyed - I'm excited to hear your thoughts! :)