Mother planned my first Season like a general planning a campaign. She made it very clear that she saw herself in the role of an experienced commander saddled with a particularly inadequate subaltern - but she was determined to do her duty. She escorted me to corsetiere and dressmaker in an attempt to remedy the deficiencies of my figure. ‘I had hoped that eating all those German Kuchen would make some difference to your bosom, Helena - and your neck seems longer than ever: perhaps all that singing has stretched it.’
She engaged a smart French maid for me, who wrestled with my hair: ‘Miladi, feefty ’airpins – ’ow is eet possible? But eet is so slippery!’ I cringed. Liliane volubly urged assistance to my complexion: ‘Miladi is so pale – a leetle rouge?’
My mother pursed her lips, then regretfully shook her head. ‘I think not for a debutante, Liliane. We will just have to bear with it.’ I stood, flushed and humiliated, as my mother bemoaned yet again the unfortunate tilt of my nose. ‘And the Girvan mouth, Helena, far too full in a young girl – and those eyebrows!’ She shuddered. Liliane eagerly seized a pair of tweezers and advanced purposefully, but my mother restrained her. ‘No, thinner eyebrows would only draw attention to the size of her mouth. Their shape is not too unsatisfactory, just do the best you can.’ She stood up and swept out of my bedroom.
After she had gone Liliane said, tentatively, ‘Miladi has long thick eyelashes, and beeg dark eyes – this is good.’ I blinked to hold back the tears from flooding my “beeg dark eyes” as the pale oval in the mirror blurred.
My presentation day arrived. I drove with Mother to the Palace, the three ridiculous ostrich feathers bobbing on my hair, swathed in white satin from head to toe. I was rigid with fear; the whole occasion was like a nightmare and I committed the ultimate sin and touched the royal hand with my nose. Afterwards I sat on a spindly gold chair as the other debutantes made their curtseys, longing desperately for the water closet – the long dressing and the three-hour wait had been too much for me; now my belly ached.
When I got back to Cadogan Place I found that Liliane had thrown away my girl’s corset. Standing imprisoned in my rigid boned stays I shed tears for the loss of that threadbare old bodice, of my swinging pigtails, of my short free skirts. Liliane shook out my evening frock and I stood like a dressmaker’s dummy while she buttoned and hooked and tied; then pushed me down on to a chair and began the endless back-combing needed to make my too-fine hair hold its shape.
A hairpin fell into my soup that night; I looked desperately round to see if Mother had noticed, but with a flick of a napkin and the flicker of an eyelid the footman retrieved it; I glanced back at him gratefully. Then I sat on at the table, tongue-tied and embarrassed between two elegant young men who tossed the odd comment towards my plate before turning back to the cleverer, wittier women on their other sides. Mother spoke to me angrily afterwards: ‘Why do you have to look so sullen, Helena, whenever you’re in company? Young men won’t dance with sulky girls.’
I told myself I did not want to dance with “young men”, only with one man – I did not care about the others. But I did care when the surge of the crowd carried me back partnerless into the ballroom at the beginning of a dance. Mother had berated me before she left for the card room: ‘Why can’t you be more welcoming, Helena, smile – and when you’re dancing you must talk to your partner. Goodness knows, I don’t expect you to be witty, but at least say something.’
But I could never think of anything. In Munich we had talked of practical matters – the food, the weather, the singers at the opera – it had been so simple there; and besides I could always shelter behind Fraulein. Now I stood alone and defenceless at the entrance to the brightly lit ballroom, watching the be-frilled dresses swirl past, each happy, girlish face smiling up at the man who held her. I turned and almost ran down the corridor to the cloakroom.
It was Alice, arriving late, who found me still hiding there. She shook her head. ‘Oh Hellie, you really are feeble! Well, come along with me now and I’ll lend you Hugh – I don’t want him cramping my style all evening.’
Alice thrust me at Hugh, with, ‘Here’s a wallflower for you,’ then glided past. He stared wistfully after her, before pulling his shoulders back and turning to me with a smile. ‘Would you like to dance, Helena?’ I gulped a ‘Thank you’.
As we danced sedately round the room Alice flashed past in the arms of a broad bronzed man with side whiskers; she was talking animatedly, gazing up into his eyes. Hugh said abruptly, ‘Alice is seeing a lot of Danesford these days.’ I did not reply. At last he heaved a sigh, looked down at me and said, ‘I tell you what, Hellie, I’ll take you round and introduce you to some nice young men – how about that?’ He smiled at me warmly and I felt a rush of affection for dear, solid Hugh.
Dances got a little easier after that. Hugh must have spoken to Guy; my brother turned up rather shamefacedly in several ballrooms with a covey of fellow officers in tow.
Through the long hot Season I longed for a glimpse of Lord Gerald Prescott. My eyes searched the crowded rooms, and any sleek fair head would set my heart thumping. Then, one evening, he did appear. I was dancing with Lance Benson when I saw him; as soon as the music stopped I steered Lance up to the other end of the room and dived into the throng next to Lord Gerald. But he politely stepped to one side without even looking at me, and I was mortified. I snapped at Lance when he asked for another dance, and went dismally in to supper.
I was pushing a strawberry ice round my plate when a voice said, ‘It is Lady Helena, isn’t it?’ I turned so quickly my ice slipped dangerously; blue eyes were smiling at me and I felt as if I were drowning. He murmured a few words about going down to Eton, to see his nephew, and said my brothers were well – then the band struck up again. I gazed wistfully up at him and he suddenly smiled, saying, ‘You look just like your twins when they’re standing outside the sock-shop wondering if they can afford strawberries and cream – would you care to dance?’
I breathed, ‘Oh, please,’ and put my hand on his arm. As we moved away I glimpsed Lance’s dismayed face – I had promised him the dance after supper – but I fixed my gaze firmly ahead and walked on.
It was a waltz. Lord Gerald danced stiffly but correctly. ‘Do you reverse?’ I nodded and we executed a decorous turn. He made the conventional remarks about the heat and the pleasant flowers, then lapsed into silence. I searched desperately for something to say, but my mind was a blank. I could not believe that it was his arm round my waist and his gloved hand holding mine.
When the music stopped he bowed politely. ‘May I escort you back to your Mama?’
‘No – she’s in the card room – she won’t want to be interrupted – please just leave me here.’
He raised his eyebrows a fraction, then smiled. ‘I see I’m being old-fashioned. You youngsters hardly need chaperons these days. You know, it’s so long since I last danced, I had to concentrate on the steps rather hard. I’m so glad you didn’t keep chattering, or I should have been quite distracted. Thank you for your understanding – goodnight, Lady Helena.’
I gazed after him in a daze of wonder. My hero, I had actually danced with my god-like hero, and he had thanked me for being understanding!
A hand touched my elbow. ‘I thought that was to be our dance, Lady Helena.’ It was Lance Benson’s reproachful voice.
I started. ‘Oh, I am sorry – but I…’
‘Well, may I have this one, instead?’
‘Of course – it doesn’t matter.’
His face flushed, then he said in a hurt voice, ‘Actually, it does matter to me, Lady Helena.’
I felt so guilty I said impulsively, ‘Please, do call me Helena, Pansy does.’ His sweet smile warmed his face, and he pulled me closer.
A week later Lance Benson proposed. He knelt before me in the drawing room, his eyes shining and hopeful. At last I muttered, ‘I’m sorry, but I ... oh Lance, I do like you so much, but…’
‘That’s a start, Helena.’ He reached for my hand.
I drew back quickly. ‘No, you see – there’s someone else.’ He dropped my fingers as though they were red hot. At last he said rather thickly, ‘That fellow you were dancing with the other evening?’
‘Yes.’
‘But, Helena, forgive me – but does he feel the same way about you?’
I could not answer. Finally I whispered, ‘That doesn’t make any difference, it’s how I feel, you see.’
‘Yes, I do see.’ He got slowly to his feet and stood looking down at me for a long time. Then he said, ‘Helena, if there’s ever anything I can do for you, send for me, wherever I am. I’ll always come, always.’
‘Thank you, Lance.’
He picked up his hat and gloves and left; I went upstairs and cried.
All through that summer it seemed as if every minute of each day was mapped out. I tried to do my singing exercises, but so often I was interrupted; Mother sent for me to go for another fitting at the dressmaker’s, or to make the interminable calls. In the morning I was just too tired, after coming back from a dance at the time when men in rubber boots were hosing down the streets ready for the new day.
I sang my aria and knew that it was no longer pure and true. In desperation I told Mother that I had promised I would go and see Miss Ling; with a bad grace she let me go out to Hammersmith one afternoon, where I poured out my troubles to my old governess. Miss Ling was reassuring: she told me that for the time being I must do as my mother wished, but then, at the end of the Season, perhaps I could go to the lady whom Frau Gehring had recommended in Manchester. I felt calmer as I travelled back to the West End and later Miss Ling wrote and suggested that if I was in London during the winter perhaps I would like to come and sing with her local music circle. I was grateful, and decided then and there that I would go if I possibly could.
I begged Mother to take me down to Eton on the Fourth of June; I longed to see the twins – and perhaps he would be there, visiting his nephew. But Mother insisted she had a previous engagement, and all I could secure were vague promises for next year. Next year! That was a lifetime away.
I cried tears of frustration when the twins’ next letter arrived: ‘Guess who ran down on the Fourth to see Stavey!! Serves you right, Big Sis, for neglecting your baby brothers!’ I screwed up the letter and rang for Liliane – it was time for my daily walk in the park.
My depression did not lift; the dusty leaves drooped on the trees and the grass was brown and dried up. I hated stuffy, dirty London – I wanted to go home. I walked slowly, eyes on the ground, and scarcely noticed at first when Liliane touched my elbow. Then she spoke, ‘Miladi – a gentleman – signalling to you.’ I raised my head and there he was – just a few yards away, coming straight towards me. I gaped at him for a moment, my mind in a whirl: the shock had taken my breath away. Once I understood I was so dizzy with ecstasy I clung to Liliane’s arm for support. Then my eyes focused on the elegant female figure beside him, and my joy vanished.
‘Good afternoon, Lady Helena. I hope you don’t mind my stopping you, but I thought you would like to know how those young rascals of brothers of yours are getting on – I spent some time with them on the Fourth. But first, introductions are in order – Moira my dear, may I present Lady Helena Girvan?’ Jealousy stabbed my heart as the cool grey eyes appraised me. I reached out a shaking hand to the spotless kid glove. He continued, ‘Lady Helena, my sister-in-law, Lady Staveley.’ My legs began to shake and I nearly sank to the gravel path in my relief.
Lady Staveley smiled. ‘I met your brothers last week – how very like them you are.’ I stammered a reply, and then managed to ask after her son. She gave a little frown. ‘Poor Arthur’s always been a touch delicate – his chest is weak, so he often has a cough.’
I thought of my strong healthy brothers and said quickly, ‘Oh, I am so sorry, how worrying for you.’ Her eyes warmed a moment. Then she pressed Lord Gerald’s arm. ‘Gerald, we mustn’t detain Lady Helena any longer – but I’m so glad to have met you, my dear.’ With a parting smile he was gone. I stood quite still, giddy with excitement; he had sought me out, he had introduced me to his sister-in-law! A small breeze rippled the green leaves above me and the sun shone in the glorious blue sky. I wanted to sing to the heavens of my love.
Liliane’s fractured accent brought me down to earth. ‘Miladi, you are going out to dinner tonight – it is time we return.’ Obediently I started to move towards the Albert Gate.
I haunted the area around the Albert Gate every afternoon for a week, but I never saw him there again.