Daughters of the Storm (2 page)

Luckily for Miss Edgeworth, the subject of her speculations would have no knowledge of her governess more advance political and social ideas, for she would have been both puzzled and offended if she had. Sophie was very happy with her lot and far too innocent to question it. The only child of adoring parents, cherished, cosseted and endowed with a loving temperament that evoked love in return, she had passed through an unclouded childhood and grown into a model daughter whose only faults were a hot temper and occasional stubbornness.

‘Have you seen my cousin?' she was asking Miss Edgeworth. ‘He promised to take me riding.'

Miss Edgeworth had indeed seen Ned Luttrell and, if she was not mistaken, he had been making his way towards Wainwright's cottage in which dwelt Wainwright's daughter, a very pretty seventeen year old. Ned had taken to visiting it quite often. It was a predictable development, but one, since she knew of Sophie's feelings for Ned, that needed to be handled carefully on her part.

‘It is time to continue our lesson,' she replied, avoiding a direct answer. ‘Where was I?'

‘In France,' replied Sophie, diverted.

‘Ah, yes. In France.'

Sophie twisted a lock of fair hair round her fingers, a habit she had when she was thinking. France! A mysterious place - sophisticated and a little alarming - which she would soon be experiencing for herself. For as long as she could remember, the Luttrells had promised that she could make a prolonged visit.

The time had arrived.

Sophie was eighteen the arrangements had finally been made. A year would be spent being launched into French society by her cousins and nearest relatives, the de Guinots, who were of the bluest blood. They were also rich, powerful and close to the king. Spending time with them, Lady Luttrell insisted, would be the best way of acquiring the polish that Sophie lacked.

‘Don't I please you as I am?' Sophie had once inquired.

Lady Luttrell registered the wistful note and had grown serious.

‘Of course,
ma fille,
you please me more that you can possibly guess. But I have a duty to prepare you for life, and your father and I agree that a knowledge of the world would be a good thing. Once that is accomplished, you may return to marry.'

Sophie watched Miss Edgeworth search in her basket for a handkerchief. A smile hovered round the corners of her lips. There had never been any question of whom she would marry. No man but Ned would do. Ned, her adored second cousin who had been brought up by the Luttrells after both his parents had succumbed to smallpox. As eldest surviving male descendant of his generation, Ned would inherit High Mullions. Lady Aimée's inability to provide her husband with a son had seen to that. It was a cross that the Luttrells bore with dignity, even if they determined in their quiet way to ensure that the house with its rolling, fertile land would remain in their branch of the family.

Happily, it was possible. Of course, if Ned had proved unsuitable the Luttrells would not have dreamt of sacrificing their daughter. But Ned was more than suitable. Three years older than Sophie, he was possessed of good looks and a charm which could cajole even the most censorious dowager. If his education sat lightly on him, he was also strongly opinioned but good-humoured too and had all the makings of an excellent squire and landlord. Brought up in the shadow of this god-like being, Sophie was easy prey, and in her eyes Ned could do no wrong. The Luttrells told themselves that it would all work out perfectly. Safely netted in her loving family circle with her dreams confined to the limited world around her, Sophie was entirely happy with the future that had been mapped out. And if Ned had any objections to the arrangement, he never voiced them.

‘Have you ever been to France, Miss Edgeworth?' she asked, wrenching her thoughts away from Ned.

‘Once,' replied Miss Edgeworth unexpectedly, blowing her nose with a decided snort. ‘I travelled around the country with my father. He was an agriculturalist, you know, and I accompanied him to help transcribe his notes. I have never forgotten it,' she finished, and there was a wistful note in her quiet voice.

‘Did you?' said Sophie, sitting up. ‘What's Paris like?'

‘Crowded and very noisy. It's a beautiful city even so. Very dangerous to walk in and everybody who can travels by carriage or
fiacre,
so it is difficult to stop and admire the architecture. I am very interested in architecture.'

Miss Edgeworth spoke absently, the memory of a promising young French architect whom she had once met and failed to excite ever green in her thin, unloved breast. ‘The streets are so narrow that I was sometimes in fear of my life. The hostelries are expensive, dirty and full of vermin. But the area you will be staying in is distinguished by some fine houses. And', she added drily, ‘I don't expect you will be walking anywhere.'

But Sophie was not listening. She had seen Ned coming towards them from the house. Her heart leapt and she sprang to her feet and waved.

‘Sit down, Miss Luttrell, if you please,' commanded Miss Edgeworth.

Sophie obeyed reluctantly and once again arranged her disobedient skirts. Ned appeared at the gate which led into the orchard and vaulted over it. Sophie bit her lip. He was so very handsome in the short green coat that he favoured, despite the fact that his light brown hair was tied anyhow by a black ribbon and a lock had fallen over his forehead. He was wearing a pair of well-worn top-boots and carried his flat-topped hat in his hand. Ned never bothered with his appearance but it did not matter. His clothes sat well on him, their disarray only accentuating his attractions.

‘The two handmaidens of spring, I see,' he called out in good-natured way as he walked towards them.

Miss Edgeworth blushed despite herself and Sophie raised a radiant face.

‘You have come to take me riding after all,' she said.

Ned grimaced.

‘Good heavens. I had quite forgotten,' he said, tugging at his cravat which was half-undone. ‘In fact, I've arranged...'

Sophie's face fell.

‘Now, don't take on, puss,' he said. ‘If you insist I will take you riding as I said, but I came to tell you that I shall be escorting you both to Paris and staying over for a while. Your father has finally persuaded me. Does that please you?'

Sophie scrambled to her feet and threw her arms around him.

‘Indeed it does,' she said, all excited. ‘I can't think of anything I would like better.'

Ned disentangled himself. ‘Careful,' he said. ‘You are in danger of strangling me.'

Sophie released him at once and some of the pleasure died out of her face. She knew that he had not meant to, but Ned's protest had made her impulsiveness appear awkward and childish.

‘Miss Edgeworth,' said Ned, consulting a gold half-hunter watch from which dangled two fashionably heavy fobs, ‘I will take my cousin riding now. I am sure Lady Luttrell will excuse Miss Luttrell the rest of the lesson.'

There was no mistaking the note of command in his voice. Miss Edgeworth hesitated, torn between insisting that he wait and the tempting vision of having some time to herself. Indulgence won.

‘An hour only, then, sir, if you please,' she contented herself by saying. She retrieved her sewing out of her basket and made every sign of getting on with it, but as soon as Sophie and Ned were safely out of sight, she allowed it to drop and sank back with a sigh.

‘Will you stay long in Paris?' asked Sophie, followed after Ned as fast as her dress would permit, delighted to have him to herself.

‘For a while,' he replied.

‘But we will have some time together? You will escort me to balls and take me riding and perhaps we can arrange to see some of the sights?'

Sophie's voice betrayed her nervousness at the prospect of being left entirely alone in Paris.

‘Of course.' Ned sounded a touch impatient. ‘That's why I agreed to your father's request to accompany you. But I don't care for the notion of being away for too long. Something might go amiss. In fact, Sophie, I don't mind telling you I took a little convincing. All that worry and fuss, and I don't over-fancy foreign food.'

‘Ned!' Sophie exclaimed. ‘Surely you don't mean that. Doesn't the thought of all those strange and wonderful places entice you a little? High Mullions will be all right. After all, Papa has managed it all his life.'

‘Not particularly,' he said, laughing at her. ‘This jaunt will disrupt my summer. I don't really see the need for it and I have a perfectly good social life here. Miss Edgeworth and our Frenchie cousins will look after you. You will buy a new wardrobe, acquire some admirers and start spouting the lingo all the time instead of half the time. In short, you will thoroughly enjoy yourself. As for me, I don't see the point of acting like a damned monkey at some French ball or other when I am needed to oversee the crops.'

Ned was only telling her half the truth. A tempting vision of Margaret Wainwright's black hair and rounded breasts occupied the other half.

Sophie coloured.

‘I will never permit admirers,' she said hotly. ‘Never. And... I... I am surprised you're not more anxious to take me to Paris.'

Ned paused. They were standing on the path that led up through the garden towards the south aspect of the house.

‘Sophie. I don't think you quite understand. Looking after High Mullions is a serious business and, as you know, your dear father isn't exactly receptive to the improvements I have proposed. Not that I am not devoted to him,' he added hastily.

Touched by this confidence, Sophie nodded. She quite understood, or thought that she did, the unspoken undercurrent of tension that flowed between the older and younger man. It worried her sometimes, for she did not care to think of her beloved father being displaced. It was true that Ned took care not to appear too impatient or tactless with regard to Sir Brinsley who, after all, had offered Ned a home and seen to his wants, but she knew that Ned often felt very constricted by his more conservative uncle. Still, if Sophie was honest, she understood Ned's feelings – Sir Brinsley was not always willing to try out new ideas and it was only natural that the two should fall out from time to time.

‘Perhaps you are right,' she said thoughtfully.

Ned flicked at her chin. ‘Of course I am, pusskin,' he said, kindly enough, but Sophie was miserably conscious that his attention had wandered away from her. ‘You must trust my judgement,' he added. ‘Now, go and get changed before
I
change my mind.'

Twenty minutes later, Sophie gave a critical glance in the mirror to reassure herself. Cased in the tight crimson broadcloth of her riding habit, she was as slim and as supple as ever. Pushing the skirt round with one booted foot, she stood in profile to make sure the line of her habit followed her figure. It did, to perfection. Not a wrinkle or a bulge marred the outline and only the tumble of her muslin jabot broke its symmetry. She analysed the effect. Without a doubt, the snowy folds and intricate knot adding a teasing sumptuousness to the severity of the costume and this was good. She gave one last tug to her skirt, arranged her hat at a jaunty angle and picked up her whip.

The sun felt unseasonably hot as the small party, composed of Ned, Sophie and Bragge the groom, set off up the hill towards the ridge at the top, and even Bragge's habitual disapproving expression wasn't enough to dampen their spirits. The trees sported new leaves and apple blossom massed on the branches. Some petals caught in Sophie's hat and jabot and she brushed them away. The pitted and rutted road wound up a steep hill and past the outlying cottages of the estate. At the top of the rise, Sophie twisted in the saddle to look back at her home. Mellow and beautiful, High Mullions sat on its slight incline, its lawns rolling up to the windows, and the pink-red brick wall that bordered its gardens looked serene and unchanging. All was well.

They swung left towards Bluebell Wood and vied with each other to see who could catch the first sight of the famous carpet of blue. Overhead, a cuckoo sounded and the flurry of bird's wings as they passed. A slight breeze sprang up, cooling the air. They picked their way in single file along the track between the trees and emerged on to high ground which gave them a view of the river plain in the distance. Sophie was content. There was nothing she liked better than to ride out into the country – the country that she considered her territory. At last, spring was quickening plants and trees. At last.

‘I'm going to pull down Henchard's cottage,' said Ned, waving his whip in the direction of a small brick building, ‘and enlarge the field.'

‘You're not?' Sophie was quick to question. ‘Where will Henchard go?'

‘He can rent the spare cottage over by Wakehurst's mill.'

‘But that is five miles from here and Henchard is too ill to be taken from his home. You can't mean it, Ned?' Sophie knew the Henchard family well and often visited them.

‘Nonsense, Sophie. He will have to do as he is told,' said Ned. ‘I am not ill-treating him. The Wakehurst cottage is in much better condition, you know.'

‘But, Ned, you don't understand. The cottage is his home. He's comfortable there. You can imagine what he will feel.'

‘Don't meddle, Sophie. My plans will suit him well enough in the end.'

Ned smiled to take the sting out of his words. Sophie stared at him, anguished at the thought of the old man being chased from the only home he had ever known and perplexed that Ned didn't understand. But as she looked at him, the realization re-surfaced, as it did with increasing frequency, that there was nothing to prevent Ned doing precisely as he pleased. Ned was going to be master at High Mullions and she would have to obey and not to dictate. That was the way it was.

She pricked her horse onwards, an uncharacteristic bitterness on her tongue for the accident of her sex.

‘Don't sulk, Sophie.' Ned regarded her, his pretty Sophie, with a slight irritation. He was fond of her, of course, and fully intended to make her a good husband, but he found her whims and impulses annoying. He would be very happy to leave the running of the house, even the accounts, to his wife, and he would make an effort not to interfere with the children, but the estate was his domain and she must learn to accept it.