Miss Sophie's Secret (15 page)

“Who are those men?” she asked Jonathan.

“They’re the guards I hired after I was attacked,” he answered.

Snow was falling in heavy flakes, descending so thickly that visibility stopped no more than ten feet in front of them.

“They can’t ride out there!” she exclaimed. “It’s much too cold. They’ll take a chill, for sure.”

“They’ll not be out there long,” he told her. “I’ll have them back safe and snug at their firesides just as soon as we’re home.”

Sophie looked around curiously as Jonathan lifted her into the carriage and then climbed in beside her. “Where is Aunt Ruth?”

“She’s gone off with Jeanette and Aunt Blanche,” he said as the carriage began to move. “Jeanette was suddenly taken ill.”

Sophie pressed her hand to her heart. “She was? What on earth can be the matter?”

Jonathan slid an arm around her and tried to draw her close to him, but she pushed him away.

“Please,” she protested. “You must not. I’m . . . I’m . . .” She quickly bowed her head and, pulling a handkerchief from reticule, pressed it to her mouth to muffle her sobs.

“Be frank with me,” he said. “I realize that there’s something standing between us—Aunt Ruth hinted at all sorts of hideous secrets, which she stoutly refuses to confide to me. I can’t understand this, Sophie. Can you tell me the truth?”

Remembering her conversation with Lady Camden, she shook her head. “I’d be ashamed.”

“Then tell me this . . . is there any chance that you could ever love me?”

She couldn’t answer. She simply cried even harder now, knowing he deserved better than she.

There was a long silence broken only by her sobs and the crunching of the landau wheels on the icy cobbles. After a time they moved past a streetlight. Sophie lifted her head, and for a few seconds, by its dim glow, she could see Jonathan’s face. He was watching her, his lips tight and his eyes glistening.

Finally he reached out and took her hand. “It’s what I deserve, I suppose. I’ve expected too much from you.”

His voice seemed to sear into her soul, touching emotions that were already tender, causing her tears to return.

“I’ll confess to you, Sophie, I’ve been a great fool,” he said on a sigh. “I think I’ve always loved you. When you were a little girl, you were so charming . . . you were my little sister. But as time passed, I began to wonder if someday we might not make a match . . . All the time I was in Spain I thought about those days at Vaile—it was the only time in my life I had a real family. And when I came home and found you so beautiful . . . Well, you can see what I’ve done. I’ve presumed that you felt the same way about—”

“Oh, Jonathan, you must marry Jeanette,” she insisted, tamping down a sudden, unreasonable burst of jealousy. “She’s the girl for you, don’t you see? You have said yourself that she’s beautiful and sweet and gentle and everything a man could hope for in a wife. And she’s from such a good family, too. I believe that, deep down inside, you’re in love with her.”

He shook her head. “No, Sophie, I don’t want her. Besides, I’ve told her that I’m in love with you.”

“What?”

“Yes, I told her I’ve always loved you, and I asked her if she had any advice as to how I could win you.”

Sophie twisted her handkerchief. “But I told you that she’s in love with you herself.”

“And I began to think that you might be right, from the way she smiled at me and certain things she said. But she’d never be happy with me. She’s in love with a sort of fairy-tale soldier who is not me anymore. Now she’ll turn back to Roger. She has no illusions about him, you see—she’ll be happy with him.”

“But this is why she’s been taken ill,” she pointed out. “You’ve given her a terrible shock.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

She quivered with indignation. “You’re heartless!”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But there are times when it’s necessary to be cruel in order to be kind.”

He made a fist and hit the windowsill with a thump. “And now I’ll be amply repaid for any sins I’ve committed. I’m going to go away, Sophie. To America, I think. Or to the West Indies.”

She began to weep again.

“Shhh,” he soothed her. “The servants mustn’t see you crying.”

When they reached Vaile House and Jonathan lifted her to the ground, they hurried inside and made their way silently up the staircase together. At her door Sophie tried to dart into the room, but Jonathan caught her arm and, turning her around, cupped a hand under her chin and raised her face.

“Good-bye,” he said.

She threw her arms around his waist and clung to him. “No, please!” she cried. “Don’t go away! Let me speak to Aunt Ruth.”

He put his arms around her and they stood clinging to each other, her cheek against his shoulder and his lips on her hair.

“Well, indeed!” cried a shrill voice from the vestibule. “You are home ahead of me, I see.”

Sophie jumped guiltily away as Lady Biskup came up the steps at a near run. When she passed them, she scowled fiercely and hissed, “Into your rooms, you wretched creatures! I shall speak to you at length in the morning!”

* * * *

Sophie didn’t rouse until after noon the following day, and as she slid her feet out of bed, she put both hands to her stuffed and aching head. “What a miserable world!” she muttered. “It is nothing but a vale of sorrow and tears. Lord Reginald was right.”

Will it never clear
? she wondered as she drew back the drapes and saw the heavy mixture of snow and fog that pressed close against the windows.
Will we never have sunshine and happiness again
?

She pulled the bell rope and sat down at her dressing table. A bleary-eyed, swollen face peered back at her from the mirror.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “I have aged ten years already. What a wretched place London is!”

“Aye,” Anna agreed as she came into the room. “’Tis evil an’ wicked, an’ corrupts a mon’s soul.”

Sophie turned to her in surprise. “What has happened, Anna?”

“Johnnie Aysgarth be caperin’ aboot like a billy goat, awaggin’ ’is tail at ’ary skirt what moves. He’ll be sire to Charity Barner’s bairn. And Mary Chayney’s perhaps.”

“Is that true?”

“Ah think likely.”

“No, certainly not,” Sophie said. “I shall have Master Jonathan speak to him.”

“’S too late.” And with that, Anna picked up a brush and whipped it powerfully through her mistress’s hair.

“Stop!” Sophie cried, grasping the girl’s wrist. “I can’t allow you to vent your spleen on my head. I’ll not have one single hair left on it.”

“Sorry, miss,” Anna mumbled, and immediately burst into tears.

Sophie rose to her feet and put her arms around her. “Please, Anna, I know it’s all very dreadful—so many unhappy things seem to be happening to both of us . . .”

She could not go on, but began to sob also. For several minutes the two girls leaned together, weeping onto each other’s shoulders. Finally their tears were spent and they straightened themselves, both mopping at their eyes and noses. Anna poured some warm water into a basin, washed Sophie’s face and then her own. By the time Sophie had reseated herself at the dressing table, they had both restored to a semblance of tranquility.

Anna continued her ministrations, pressing warm cloths to her mistress’s swollen eyes and then cooling her complexion with lotion compresses. Eventually Sophie was sufficiently composed to make her way downstairs to the dining room, fearing that her aunt would give her a thorough scolding and cause her to begin crying again.

Her fear was unfounded, however, as she found not Lady Biskup in the dining room, but Jonathan sipping a cup of coffee and absentmindedly poking bites of cold brioche into his mouth.

“You are still here!” she cried.

“Yes,” he replied. “And I’ve some good news for you. I think I’ve tracked your Agnes Baxter to her lair.”

Sophie squealed and would have thrown herself into his arms, but he raised a restraining hand. “Eat some breakfast,” he told her, “and we’ll be on our way before the weather makes even the shortest trip impossible.”

As soon as Edmund McCoy had served her some buttered eggs and tea, Sophie leaned toward Jonathan. “You must tell me everything,” she urged. “How did you find her? Did someone in this house give you her direction? Is she really my old nurse? Did she know my mother?” She paused to inhale. “Why did she leave Vaile? Where is she now?”

He laughed suddenly and waved a hand at her. “Enough! We’ll not discuss it until we’re on our way. Aunt Ruth should be down shortly and I’d like to be gone before she makes an appearance.”

Sophie nodded and applied herself to downing her breakfast.

“You must prepare yourself for possible disappointment,” Jonathan warned her when she had finished. “This may not be the woman you remember. And even if she is, she may not be able to reveal anything new.”

“But how can that be? If it’s Agnes Baxter—”

“We’ll see,” was all he said.

Sophie ran upstairs and stuffed herself into a warm coat and bonnet, and then opened her jewel box. Parting the lining in the lower left-hand corner, she pulled out the sapphire and diamond earring she had kept all these years. She wrapped it carefully in a linen handkerchief and then put it into her reticule before hurrying downstairs to rejoin Jonathan, who was awaiting her in the vestibule, muffled to his nose and wearing his heavy overcoat with the short cape and fur collar.

Leeds opened the front door for them and they walked out onto the top step. Snow was falling straight downward, without so much as a whisper of wind to disturb its descent, and a light fog swirled atop the street. Around them the world was strangely silent, as though the city had been emptied of humanity during the night.

At the foot of the steps sat a shiny new curricle. Johnnie Aysgarth stood at its head, holding the restless team in check. Standing on a brace at the back were the guards.

Holding out his arm to Sophie, Jonathan helped her down the ice-encrusted steps. At the edge of the cobbles she hesitated a moment, considering Johnnie Aysgarth. Then pursing her lips, she walked over to him and hissed, “Shame on you, Johnnie Aysgarth! I would never have urged Lady Biskup to bring you to London if I had realized that you were bent on amusing yourself with every kitchen maid in the city. Well, I must warn you that if there is any trouble in the servants’ hall, I shall see that you are shipped back to Vaile on the very next coach.”

Aysgarth stood for a moment, gaping. Then he smiled. “Yes, Miss Sophie,” he said. “Has Anna Finch been talking?”

“Anna has the good name of our house in mind,” she said.

He grinned broadly. “Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.”

Somewhat confused by his reaction, Sophie turned back to Jonathan and allowed him to help her onto the seat. He swung up beside her and tucked a fur robe over their laps. Then Johnnie Aysgarth gave the horses their heads and swung onto the perch as the curricle moved past him. The conveyance swept into the storm at a slower pace than normal.

“According to Leeds,” Jonathan explained, “Agnes Baxter was pensioned off in 1799—with a fair living, it would seem, to ensure her comfort for the remainder of her days. Why she is living in her present squalor is a bit of a mystery, so this may not be the woman we’re seeking. If your Agnes Baxter has gone to her reward, we may never be able to discover the truth of your origins.”

Sophie sighed. “It’s all so dreadful, not knowing who one is. I’ve always longed to be reunited with my real parents, but now I realize that it would be an awful experience to have a complete stranger—perhaps a notorious rabble-rouser—come up to me and exclaim, ‘Daughter!’ Can you think of anything more horrifying?”

Jonathan gave her a wry smile. “I can think of a great many things that would be far worse than that.”

Sophie sat glumly watching the snow whirl around the prancing team. Occasionally another vehicle would approach them and pass, but on the whole the streets were deserted and silent. Once, as they turned down a narrow lane and made their way into an area of ramshackle buildings, Sophie glanced back and caught sight of another curricle moving behind them at the same speed. It also turned down into the narrow lane.

“Look there,” she said, drawing a hand from her muff to point. “I believe someone is following us. It may be one of our friends.”

Jonathan drew his team to a halt, and they waited for several seconds. “See if that carriage is following us,” he called back to one of the guards.

At that moment the curricle came into view, its team moving slowly along in their tracks. But no sooner had it appeared around a low shed, than it veered off to the left and disappeared down a side street. The driver, who was alone in the vehicle, was muffled to his nose and unrecognizable.

“It is no one we know,” Sophie observed.

Jonathan sat for a moment, musing. Then as his team strained impatiently against the lines, he released them. The animals trotted eagerly forward.

They experienced some difficulty finding Mrs. Baxter’s house, and there was no one on the snowy streets to give them directions. Eventually they found a narrow lane that was lined with dilapidated old cottages. In front of the third on the right, hung a broken sign that bore the words Bax . . . A.

“This must certainly be the place!” Sophie said. “Now if only she is still alive.”

Jonathan reined in his team and Johnnie Aysgarth jumped down to take their heads. While the guards waited on the ground, Jonathan took Sophie’s hand.

“Are you sure you’re ready for whatever may come? You’re prepared to accept disappointment, if that’s what awaits us?”

She nodded.

“Very well,” he said.

He swung down from the curricle and assisted Sophie to the ground. As Johnnie Aysgarth sprang into the vehicle and drove off, Jonathan motioned for the guards to follow him. The four of them pushed through a rude gateway and crossed a tiny yard that was piled high with oddly shaped mounds of snow. While they huddled close to a rime-encrusted door, Jonathan knocked.

Almost immediately, it opened a crack and a middle-aged woman peered out at them. She considered them for a moment with sharp black eyes.