Star Sapphire: Love and wild adventure in Regency England

by Janet Louise Roberts

Maurice had come into the room in time to hear this last. “Come, now, Sonia, do show your usual good reason —”

  She glared at him. Edwina was weeping again, and Henrietta looked on the verge of tears. Maurice came to Sonia and slid his arm coaxingly about her waist.

  “Now, my dearest sister, do be calm. Let your abigail put you to bed and get some rest. You are overwrought. I don’t blame you, for Alastair is a beast when he gets in such a devilish pucker —”

  “So he is. Well, from now on, he can take out his ill humours on his — his next wife!” said Sonia, her mouth snapping on the words. “See if she hangs on him then!”

  There was no calming her. Packed, she called for her coachman and private carriage, a huge barouche in which they stacked the many trunks and valises and two hatboxes. She was off within the hour, leaving the girls weeping and Maurice shaking his head.

  “Can’t blame her,” said Maurice sadly. “Devil a time when I ever marry! It is a cursed state, turns people mad enough for Bedlam.”

  Edwina burst into further tears, and ran from the hallway. Henrietta gave her brother a reproachful look and said, “You’d best send for Alastair, or Ralph Hastings, perhaps. He is sensible enough.”

  Meantime, Sonia was travelling west. Two footmen on horseback were escorting the carriage solemnly. She allowed this as far as the edge of London, then curtly dismissed them as the barouche turned on to the road to Cornwall.

  She wished no outriders to report her true destination to anyone at all.

  Leah looked relieved after they had turned on to the Cornwall road. “There, now, we’ll be happy in Fairley, and able to relax,” she said, patting Sonia’s gloved hand. Sonia did not reply, staring from the windows into the gloomy January dusk, paying no attention when the horses skidded dangerously on the icy road.

  Sonia felt in a daze, once her first fury had passed. She felt rather ill from her fit of temper, and wondered if it would affect the child. She sighed deeply from time to time, and made no objection when Leah insisted on stopping early at an inn.

  They rested the night, and continued through the next day. The road to Cornwall was dearly familiar to Sonia now. She saw the landmarks through tears. Leah chattered a little about their welcome at Fairley.

  “ Mrs Pendennis will be that glad to see us. She says as how the winters be lonely,” remarked Leah. “I never thought to like a Christian so much!”

  “She is a good woman,” agreed Sonia dully. “I hope she will continue to be kind to the Jewish peddlers.”

  Leah gave her a curious look. “Whyever not? She has her orders from you, my lady!”

  Sonia brushed away tears. She felt as icy as the churning streams beside the road, flooded by the rains and snows of winter. So cold, she thought she would never be warm again, in spite of the thick blue-green cloak in which she huddled. Alastair’s gift to her! She had forgotten that… she had reached instinctively for her warmest cloak, and it had been this one of Scottish wool. Her hand caressed the fabric.

  The third day they began to approach Cornwall, through the lovely Devon countryside, browned now after the autumn chill and winter’s heavy hand. A few snowflakes began to fall, and then more, swirling down in ever-thickening clouds.

  “We’ll be home by evening,” encouraged Leah, looking out at the snow apprehensively.

  After stopping for luncheon, Sonia said to the coachman, quietly, as he helped her into the carriage, “We will come to a fork in the road soon. Do not take the road to Fairley — take the southern fork, to the left.”

  He stared at her, his grave face crinkling with worry. “But, my lady —”

  “The left fork,” she said firmly. He sighed, and looked at Leah.

  “Now, my lady, wherever will we be going?” asked Leah, reproachfully, her dreams of a warm bed fast fading.

  “You will see,” said Sonia.

  They took the left fork, and began following the coast road. On their left, the seas roared against black rocks, across the sands, sending up their billows of spume into the snowy air, until one could scarce tell where the ocean waves left off and the snows began. The skies seemed to open up and pour out the huge fleecy white flakes that foretold a heavy snow.

  “It’s going to be a bad storm,” murmured Leah, glancing hopefully at her mistress.

  “We’ll be there by dark,” said Sonia, staring out at the sea. How dark it looked, how menacing. How much better it would have been if she had gone down in that sailing vessel which had brought her back to England! Yet — yet she had had a few more months with Alastair before…

  They began to come to a few small villages perched precariously on the rocks — stone houses where a few fishermen spread out nets, with a few small boats resting on skids against the time when men could go out for the catch. They passed one village after another. Sonia began to watch carefully from the window.

  Finally, just after passing one village more desolate than the others, she called out to the coachman, “Take the lane to the right!”

  He turned off obediently. The horses had a hard time tugging the great coach along the frozen ruts of mud. The barouche lurched from side to side, then came to a halt.

  “We are stuck!” said Leah. It was the final blow to her.

  Sonia tugged at the handle. The coachman got down, opened the door for her, and lowered the steps. Sonia got out to see the lights of the nearby cottage as its door was flung open.

  “Well, it’s Miss Sonia!” cried a friendly voice. Sonia ran up the few steps to be enveloped in the arms of Rosa Bartel. “My dearest child, whatever are you doing here?”

  Sonia held her off, to beam down at the rosy cheeks, the bright eyes, the white hair of her former nanny. “Oh, dearest Rosa, I had to come to you,” she said simply.

  “Come in, come in, all of you,” called out Rosa. “’Tis a small place, but there is room for you all!” She blessed them as they came in, recognizing Leah. “Dearest Mrs Stein, how good to see you! And you have brought me my baby girl safely!”

  Sonia sighed with relief to be taken to a tiny room up the narrow stairs that wound up to the second floor. The simple bed was just what she needed, along with the sound of the sea from the windows. When she had last seen the cottage years ago, it had been rose-covered. The birds had been singing in the trees, and the sea had been blue and friendly. But the cottage had been by the sea — it knew bad times as well as good — the creaking of its boards against the winds, the smoke from the chimney billowing into the rooms when the snow gusted…

  And she was alone here, with only her two dearest friends who would not betray her. Here she would wait for her child in peace and quiet, away from the bellowing and fury of Alastair and his horrible accusations.

  Many years ago, after Sonia had grown too big for a nurse, she had bought for her the home Rosa wanted — a cottage on the coast of her native Cornwall. Now it would be Sonia’s refuge.

  Alastair returned home to London on a cold rain-lashed day in mid-February. He entered the house to be met by the news that Sonia had departed.

  Edwina told him hopefully, “The footmen who escorted her part of the way told me she took the road to Cornwall. I think she has gone to Fairley.”

  His scowl cleared. “Yes, yes, good. I will follow her. She has always liked Fairley. We shall clear up our differences there.”

  He paused only for a change of clothes, an overnight stay, and a change of horses , then was off again. But three days later, at Fairley, he was aghast when Mrs Pendennis told him Sonia was not there, and had not been there at all.

  “But where can she have gone?” he asked.

  He fumed, returned to London, and went straight to Meyer Goldfine. The elderly man was nodding before his fire when Alastair was shown in. He started awake.

  “Dear me, dear me, how pleasant to see you,” beamed Meyer. “And do you bring Sonia with you?”

  The innocuous question loosed a storm on his head. “She has left my house and home!” roared Alastair. “And I
mean to find her and haul her home again! How dare she leave me?”

  “Leave you?” Meyer’s frail face turned even more pale. “Oh, no, she would not leave you!”

  Alastair had to look through the whole house before he was convinced that Sonia was not there. Edwina had wisely not obeyed her sister-in-law’s commands to remove her possessions from Alastair’s home. Sonia’s own apartment still contained her unused drawing board, dried paints, a canvas tacked to a frame, untouched for months.

  Alastair ran his hands through his hair, settled his hat once more, and was off to confront Jacob Goldfine. Jacob had heard rumours about Sonia, and was as coldly angry as Alastair was hotly furious.

  “No, I do not know where Sonia is,” he said for the hundredth time, planted solidly before Alastair. “No, you shall not search my house. Sonia is not here. I wish she were, for I should protect her from you. I was against this marriage from the first — I knew it would not work!”

  “Oh, you did, did you!” roared Alastair, quite frightening Beryl, who was nervously trying to sew. “You have gall enough for a legion! Is she hiding in this house? Haul her out, I say!”

  “She is not here, my lord, I assure you,” Beryl said quietly. She stood up, putting her hand gently on Alastair’s arm. “She is not here. We do not know where she has gone. We have asked about, discreetly. None of her relatives and friends have seen her. I am so worried about her.”

  Alastair reluctantly believed her, and turned on Jacob again. “I mean to have the truth about your little jaunt with her, though,” he said threateningly. “If I have to call you out — I will know!”

  “And if I have to knock you down and throw you out of my house, you shall not know!” bellowed Jacob, his cheeks red with rage, his black beard bristling.

  “Jacob — my lord! I beg you, do not quarrel! It will not bring Sonia back!” cried the distressed Beryl.

  Alastair, fuming, left the house. During the next days and weeks, he questioned everyone who might know about Sonia. Disregarding the gossip, the titters, and the real concern of Lady Barnstable and others who respected Sonia, he stormed about London, trying to find out where Sonia was hiding. No one knew, or would tell him.

  He was quite distracted, and he grew thin and even more bitterly touchy. Edwina tried to comfort him, Henrietta did not. His younger sister said, “If you had not flaunted your mistress before her eyes, she would not have left! How could you, Alastair? If any man treated me so, I should scratch his face!”

  He flushed and swore, but she faced him out. “She is not my mistress,” he finally admitted sullenly. “She has gone with Sir Philip Ryan, and I wish him well of her! A more greedy bitch I never met. I have not… been… with her since — well, my marriage.”

  “Does Sonia know?” asked Henrietta practically, to Edwina’s well-bred horror. Ladies did not discuss such matters.

  “She should know! I have been faithful to her —”

  “I think you had better tell her straight out,” said the admirably prosaic Henrietta. “I don’t think she does know. She said you meant to divorce her and marry Mrs Porter. Of course, she was very angry. She has as bad a temper as you do, Alastair.”

  That did not help. He raged off to his study, to cross off his mental list the last of the names of those he thought might be hiding Sonia. Then he returned to Meyer Goldfine’s house to see if Sonia’s uncle had had any word of her.

  “She is not found?” asked her uncle. He seemed even more frail that March day, huddling under his velvet robes. “Dear me. Where could the girl have gone? She was always so obedient. I well recall how mature she seemed when she first came to us. She entered the house, leading her father by the hand, a child of under ten, saying, ‘Here, Papa, here is your brother. He will take care of you,’ and she put his hand in mine. My poor brother, his mind was almost gone, he was so distracted. Sonia, she had to think for them both, getting them out of Vienna. We smuggled them to London —”

  “Where — is — she — now?” Many other times, Alastair had been fascinated to listen. Now, he wanted only to find his wife. And to know the truth about her…

  “I do not know, my lord,” said Meyer, leaning back, eyes closed. “I do not know. My poor dear Sonia.”

  The maid, unasked, brought in a tea tray. The motherly woman poured it in silence, serving a cup to Alastair and to Meyer. The fragrant brew soothed Alastair, calmed him a little.

  “I must know where Sonia went those three months,” he said finally. “I am almost out of my mind with it. We have quarrelled over it again and again. Then that letter from the Portuguese man — that did it.”

  Meyer looked more alert. “She — had a letter from someone — in Portugal?” he asked. He frowned.

  “Yes, a bold arrogant letter,” said Alastair, growing hot just thinking of it. “She was furious that I had read it. He asked her if she had yet left her husband! If she went to him —” He clenched his fists, wondering how soon he could take ship for Portugal.

  Meyer moved his thin hand over his face. “No, no, she would not. I felt sure the marriage would be well,” he said sadly. “You seemed so well suited. She is of such an intelligence, my Sonia, and of such beauty, grace and integrity. I knew you would come to love and admire her.”

  “I do,” said Alastair, and his shoulders sagged. “I do love her, I do admire her. But, my God, how much must a man endure? She will not tell me the truth about that three months’ absence. And she has left me!”

  “She will return,” said Meyer hopefully.

  “She told me she was expecting my child. I asked her if it was that of another man. I asked her whose child it was!” cried Alastair, angry again, his blue eyes flashing.

  “You did not!” gasped Meyer. “You said that to Sonia — the soul of honesty and virtue —”

  The words stung. Alastair raged, “Then if she has such honesty, why will she not tell me where she went? You know — Jacob knows — why can’t I know?”

  “And she is to have a child,” murmured Meyer, his eyes glowing. “She must return!” He seemed to meditate deeply. “Alastair — my lord — you must go to Nathan Rothschild.”

  “She is involved with another man?” asked Alastair, aghast.

  Meyer managed a feeble chuckle. “No, no, but he knows the truth. Only he can tell you. Wait, I will write a brief note and send it to him by your hand.” He struggled to get up. Alastair stopped him, and brought pen, ink and paper to him.

  Meyer scrawled a few words, folded the paper, and put the address on it. “There, take that to Mr Rothschild. See him privately, using my name. Then, tell him the situation, and see if he will tell you the story. I cannot, for my lips are sealed.”

  The coachman did stare when Alastair directed him to the counting house of Nathan Rothschild. He did not think his master was in the suds again. He had not been near a gaming house these months. Still… He set the horses in motion, and they went into the City.

  Alastair had to cool his heels in the outer room of the Rothschild house for a good half-hour, which did not improve his temper. Finally he was admitted to see the man Meyer had sent him to.

  He found a plump, shrewd man with red hair, a sagging lower lip, a bulbous nose, and sharp eyes. The man nodded briefly to a chair, not bothering to rise from his desk. He continued to scribble. A clerk took the message away, and shut the door. Mr Rothschild leaned back in his chair.

  “Well, my lord?”

  Alastair handed him the note. “From Mr Meyer Goldfine,” he said, and watched the man’s face anxiously. This man held the secret, but what could that be?

  “I can tell you nothing,” said Mr Rothschild brusquely, waving him away.

  “Indeed, sir, you had damn well better tell me the whole story,” said Alastair, his chin going up. “I have hunted all over London for my wife, and Cornwall as well. I have asked a hundred people where she is, and no one will even inform me where she went those three months last summer. I will know the truth before I leave this office!�
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  Mr Nathan Rothschild studied the firm chin and blazing blue eyes of the man before him. “Hmmm,” he said. “And why do you wish to know? You do not trust Sonia Goldfine? Hmmm?”

  Alastair bit his lips, and now he looked more like a troubled, haunted young man. “We have not trusted each other,” he admitted. “She believes I have continued an affair with — another woman. I have not. I believe she is too fond of her cousin, Jacob. Her uncle swears by her virtue. My God, what can I believe, especially when she is to have a child and has disappeared?”

  The older man frowned and stared down at his desk. “You have a service record, I believe,” he said, abruptly, after a silence.

  Stranger and stranger. Alastair patiently told his rank and regiment, his years of service.

  “Hmmm. And you love your country, and would not betray her?”

  “You need not ask, sir!”

  “No, I believe not. Well, your wife, Lady Fairley, also loves and honours her adopted country, England. She has done what she believed best to help her, in a noble and courageous way.”

  Alastair stared. This was not at all what he had expected. “I — do not follow you, sir! What do you mean?”

  The blue good-humoured eyes finally softened their shrewdness. He looked more kindly at Alastair. “Well, well, I see I must tell you the story. Only, it must go no further than this room. You are not to discuss it with anyone, not to speak to anyone but your wife concerning it. Is that understood?”

  Alastair nodded.

  “Your word, man!” said Nathan Rothschild.

  “My word, sir, as a gentleman, a member of the House of Lords, and an officer —”

  “Yes, yes. Well, you see, Wellington was in much need of gold and specie to pay his troops on the Peninsula. The Treasury attempted to send money to him,” said Nathan Rothschild, in a lower tone. “Ships were sunk. Coaches were stopped. The money did not get through. I went to the Treasury and offered my services and those of the House of Rothschild. For a small percentage, I would guarantee — guarantee! — that the gold would get through to General Wellington.”