"Get your filthy hands off her!"

Mary was enraged beyond belief; incensed beyond reason. She hardly recognised the feral shriek as her own as she stormed into the room, baying for blood.

The scene in front of Mary was so utterly abhorrent that for a moment she wondered if she were seeing things. How dare they! How could those vile, repulsive men ever dream of violating poor, sweet Lady Helena in such a way?

Thankfully, the man with his pudgy hands all over Lady Helena released her from his grasp at the ferocity in Mary's voice. Upon turning to face Mary and discovering her to be a female, however, the men looked thoroughly unconcerned.

A sorry mistake, thought Mary grimly.

Casting a brief glance at Lady Helena's limp form, Mary realised the poor thing had fainted away. The sooner the better these awful men were sent on their way, so that Lady Helena was not faced with them again when she came to.

The witless thugs, of course, had other ideas.

"'Ello, love!" lisped the one nearest to her gleefully. "Come to join the fun?"

Mary's nose wrinkled in disgust. Such revolting men did not deserve to be out in the community; behind bars was the only place for them.

"Certainly not," was Mary's clipped response.

Still the men refused to view her as a threat. Guffawing to themselves, they appeared to tire of waiting – the man nearest to Mary suddenly made a move as if to capture her as well.

That was their second mistake.

Thinking quickly, Mary's gaze swept around the room in search of anything which could be used as a weapon. Her eyes fell upon the poker which lay in the fireplace, ensconced by the dancing sparks of the dying embers. It would not be scorching hot – but it would have to do.

By the time the man was upon her, Mary had the poker firmly in her grasp, brandishing it in front of her like a sword. Even with a weapon, the man did not fear her – leering unpleasantly to show a cavernous mouth lacking several teeth, he continued to lumber towards her, lunging forwards at the last moment in an attempt to grab her around the middle.

Thankfully Mary, with lightning-fast reactions, had anticipated the brute's move, dancing lightly sideways out of harm's way. Carried forwards by his momentum, the man stumbled, hunching over – and Mary grasped the opportunity to aim a powerful kick at his stomach.

Grunting, the man doubled over even further – but Mary was barely allowed a moment to look on with satisfaction, for the tallest of the three men was now advancing.

Planting her feet a shoulder's width apart and bending her knees slightly, Mary swung the poker with an enraged cry, striking his cheek with significant force.

"Ow!" he howled, his cry a mixture of pain and fury as he staggered backwards, clutching the side of his face.

Panting heavily, Mary turned her attention to the third and final brute -  the slightly plumper of the three, who had been pinning Lady Helena down on the bed. To her complete and utter surprise, though, she found him seemingly with no desire to brawl. Instead, he glanced back and forth from her face to the poker she still brandished before her, wide-eyed and panic-stricken.

Feeling a peculiar sense of empowerment, Mary drew herself up to her full height.

"I shall give you one opportunity to leave," she warned them, eyes flashing. "And I advise you to take it, if you wish to come to no further harm."

The words had come from nowhere; conjured up in the heat of the moment, and completely ridiculous to Mary's ears. Yet, to Mary's complete and utter disbelief, the three men shared a brief, wordless look, before scrambling, limping and staggering out of the room without a backwards glance!

"I did it," whispered Mary incredulously – but before her breathing could return to normal, there came a squeak of a floorboard out in the corridor.

Alert in an instant, Mary wielded the poker once more – only to lower it moments later with a sigh of relief, upon realising it was Lady Helena's coach driver stood before her.

"Is everything alright, milady?" he enquired gruffly. "I saw a band of ruffians leave your room just now; were they causing trouble?"

"They were," replied Mary, slightly irritated that the coachman had not chosen five minutes earlier to make his appearance, "but thankfully neither Lady Helena or I came to any great harm."

The coachman's shoulders sagged with relief.

"Thank heavens!" he cried. "If only I had finished tending to the horses but five minutes sooner!"

Indeed, thought Mary wryly.

"Although," continued the coachman admiringly, "by the sorry state of those men as they passed me on the stair, I'd say you made fine work of them, Miss Thorpe!"

Mary couldn't help it; she felt a large grin spreading itself across her face.

"Thank you," she replied appreciatively. "I am, however, thoroughly exhausted, and poor Lady Helena needs to be brought around – so if you do not mind, I think I shall now retire for the evening."

The coachman grew flushed, apparently only just realising the potential implications of being found alone in a bedchamber with his mistress and her guest.

"Yes, yes – of course," he stuttered, backing hastily towards the door. "My apologies."

And with that he was gone, leaving Mary alone with the still-unconscious Lady Helena as she attempted to process what had just taken place.

***

"They – you – but how?"

During the past half hour, Mary had put her trusty poker to its proper use, stoking up the fire so that the room was filled with a crackling, merry blaze by the time Lady Helena came around. Though a little confused and rather shaken, once she had calmed down a little Lady Helena had been willing to allow Mary to help her change into her night things. The women were now both huddled together on the bed nearest the fire, where Lady Helena had been listening in amazement to the tale of how Mary had banished the thugs.

By the time Mary reached the part where she had wielded the poker and fended off the attackers, Lady Helena's eyes looked as if they were about to bulge out of her head.

"How did you think to do such a clever thing?" Lady Helena was gushing. "You were so incredibly brave! I had not the strength or wits to deter them even slightly; yet within five minutes you had them scarpering!"

Not that Mary was particularly big-headed or boastful, but it did feel nice to receive some praise from Lady Helena, who had so clearly thought herself superior to Mary until now. But what Lady Helena did not yet realise was that being a proper lady was only one skill – there were several others, such as knowing how to defend oneself, which could be just as valuable to learn.

"I am forever indebted to you, Mary," continued Lady Helena shakily. "Thank you, truly – I feel fortunate indeed to have such a skilled and quick-minded companion with me in this wretched place."

Poor Lady Helena, thought Mary guiltily. What on earth had she been thinking of, dragging this pampered lady away from her quiet, elegant life into a whirlwind of uncertainty and trouble? They had been gone from Alverton Hall not a day, and already Lady Helena had narrowly escaped being ravished by a band of brutes. Had it truly been wise of Mary to bring such a pure, innocent being into Margaret's mess?

Whatever Mary's thoughts on the matter, it was not of much use now – they were near halfway to London, so Lady Helena really had no other option.

Lady Helena shuddered suddenly; a violent ripple of movement which Mary suspected had little to do with cold. From the hooded, haunted look of Lady Helena's eyes, it was clear she was busy reliving the horrors of the evening over and over in her mind. Mary recognised the look; she had witnessed it many times in Margaret's eyes following the discovery that she was to have Mr Roach's child.

Dwelling on the past would never do – this was what Mary had always told Margaret – and her usual approach had been to distract her friend. Deciding this should work just as well for Lady Helena, Mary took this approach now.

"Lady Helena," she began, taking care to speak more softly than she usually would. "I have just recalled that on the night I told you about Margaret, you were in fact very distressed, only I did not offer you the opportunity to share your troubles. Would you care to do so now?"

Lady Helena blinked a few times, as if attempting to remember something from another life. Mary knew the feeling; it seemed as if years had passed since she was last in Yorkshire, when in fact she had only been gone two months.

"Yes," replied Lady Helena slowly, "I suppose you are right. Although it is no longer a relevant matter."

"Ah," murmured Mary knowingly. "It is to do with Lord Carningsby."

To Mary's surprise, Lady Helena laughed wryly.

"No, indeed! It was never to do with that silly man; not really."

Well, Mary's curiosity was now thoroughly piqued. Fully alert, she waited eagerly as Lady Helena let out a heavy sigh of resignation before continuing.

"I never loved Lord Carningsby," admitted Lady Helena, looking thoroughly ashamed of herself for admitting such a thing. "I never wished to marry him – for there is another man who holds my heart."

Mary, quite forgetting herself, almost squealed aloud in glee. Who would have thought it? Stiff, uptight Lady Helena, in love – and with a man other than her intended beau, no less!

"And who, pray tell, is this fine young gentleman who has succeeded in capturing your heart so?" gushed Mary eagerly.

To Mary's horror, this had clearly been entirely the wrong thing to say. Smile instantly wiped from her face, Lady Helena became at once most subdued and sorrowful.

"Forgive me!" muttered Mary bashfully. "I have spoken out of turn – yet again."

Lady Helena simply shook her head.

"No, I am not upset by your question," she told Mary gently. "It is high time I shared with you this burden which has been mine alone for far too long.

"His name – the man I love – is Joseph Godwin, and he is my oldest and dearest friend. He resided with his family in the village neighbouring Alverton, and so I became very well acquainted with his family as a child. Growing up, Joseph and his siblings were my playmates – and although I loved his sister dearly, it was always Joseph for whom I felt the deepest regard.

"Being young, and having known him my entire life, I did not realise right away that my feelings for him had surpassed that of friendship. Had I only known it sooner, how different things might have been! But alas, it was too late – for he soon informed me of his intention to leave England to travel the continent awhile.

"He left in April, and was due to return by Christmas – and each day I waited desperately for news from his brother and sister-in-law, who both reside at their father's old house. Yet it would seem my hoping and waiting was in vain – for the day after Christmas I heard from his sister-in-law that Joseph had in fact returned to England, but had no intention of making Cheshire his home once more."

Poor Lady Helena!

With this revelation came the surprising discovery that Mary herself had been rather naïve. Upon meeting the polite, dignified Lady Helena with her immaculate ringlets and delicate curtsies and a multitude of pianoforte concertos in her repertoire, Mary had imagined her life to be perfect. It was nothing but dressing up in fabulous gowns to attend elegant balls and dinners, devoid of any source of worry or upset.

Or so it had appeared to Mary from the outside.

How foolish she had been, to imagine Lady Helena could not have troubles of her own! And such heart-breaking troubles they were, too.

"I am so very sorry to hear this, Lady Helena," Mary told her earnestly. "I cannot imagine how painful it must have been to discover Joseph will not be returning."

Lady Helena blinked, looking surprised.

"Do you not think me a terrible person?" she asked. "It was my father's wish to have me marry Lord Carningsby, yet I refused him – not only for a man with a lesser rank in society, but a man whom I shall never have the opportunity to marry in his stead."

"It was to be you marrying Lord Carningsby, Lady Helena – not your father," replied Mary slowly. "You were therefore well within your rights to refuse a gentleman with whom you had no desire to spend your entire life."

"Oh, Mary – how I wished it could be so!" murmured Lady Helena softly, with the air of a woman bearing the weight of the world upon her narrow shoulders. "Yet the right to select my husband never lay with me. My dowry is my father's money; who am I to decide to whom it should go?

Lady Helena, of course, was right, Mary realised. For these noble men and ladies, marriage was but an opportunity to climb the social ladder. With potential reputable family connexions at stake, power rested with parents to decide upon a marriage for their children which would secure the largest benefits for their own family name.

As for Mary – who was she? An unknown, untitled servant girl, without a dowry or reputation to speak of. This world of advantageous matches was no place for her; she knew that now more than ever.

To Mary's irritation, the ever-astute Lady Helena was regarding her with a knowing expression.

"You are thinking of Sir Edmund," commented Lady Helena gently.

It was not a question. To lie would be pointless, so Mary conceded with a resigned sigh.

"You are correct," replied Mary reluctantly. "Although I realise now how foolish I have been."

"Do you truly believe so? Do you believe it foolish to love?"

Mary's head snapped up violently.

"I do not ... we are not..." spluttered Mary incoherently.

Lady Helena was wrong! She had grown fond of Sir Edmund, yes – but she did not love him! Mary Preston, in love – what a ridiculous notion!

She simply had a particular affection for his smile, and kind eyes, and gentle words...

That was all.

Besides, it did not matter now whether it was a matter of 'fondness' or 'love' – for she would likely never see Sir Edmund again.

"He was kind to me, and I will remember that always," said Mary now. "But I shall not waste hours romanticising over what could never have been."

Lady Helena quirked a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Then I wish you the best of luck in your endeavour," replied the earl's daughter. "But know that from my own experience, I have found such strong emotions cannot be erased from the heart with ease."

Lady Helena meant well – but she did not truly understand Mary's character. It was kind of her to be concerned, but what Lady Helena did not realise was that Mary's feelings towards Sir Edmund had not been that strong. He had simply been someone Mary enjoyed passing time with during her stay at Alverton Hall; someone who made her feel happy, and liked.

Margaret was the only person of importance now, and so Mary would willingly forget whatever might have been with Sir Edmund for the sake of her friend.

She just wished it didn't have to hurt so much.

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A/N: So, I think we can all agree that Mary was pretty awesome there! She's a true friend. I really enjoyed writing a little bonding scene between her and Lady Helena - let me know if you enjoyed it too, with a vote or comment! :)