“Now that you have had your gallop, gentlemen; you will take the next turn down to the village, and return along the drovers’ road in single file.”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison. However much they wondered what happened, it was obvious Doctor Hawley did not intend to indulge their curiosity.
After a while, Charlie wondered if they imagined the whole thing. They did not attempt to run away again, nor did they say a word to anyone. His greatest fear was that they might be deprived of future visits to see Miss Hawley with her lemonade and orange-zest biscuits. That was the worst punishment he could imagine. It did not bear thinking about.
Every day that Charlie took riding lessons, Sophie followed them to the stables, and in the months following when they went out across the park with Dr Hawley. They knew she watched them leave the stable yard and was waiting on their return.
Ed Salter had told them that her interest in Lucy and Julia’s riding lessons did not extend beyond the second day, which led them to wonder what she did in their absence. Charlie was anxious when she missed several of Dr Hawley’s classroom lessons.
“I wonder where she’s gone. She’s usually here with us.”
“Maybe she went to the stables with the other girls.” It was the best suggestion Joshua could make.
“You could be right,” said Charlie. “We’ll go there before luncheon.”
When they arrived in the stable yard, Sophie was perched on the mounting block, enthralled by everything she could see. The next day they found her in the same place, and every day for the following two weeks. It became so predictable, it hardly seemed worth going, until one day when they went to the stables, she was nowhere in sight. Instead, they found Shelwick, waiting for them.
“We’ve got a problem with your sister, Master Charlie.”
Charlie ruffled up at the gruff sound in the groom’s voice.
“What do you mean? She’s not hurt, is she?”
“No,” the man snorted. “Quite the reverse, though it’s more by luck than anything else. I’ve never known one so young be so contrary. Where the other girls ride ponies, your sister took it into her silly little head to groom the Master’s bay gelding. That great brute could have kicked her out of his stall. He’s done it often enough with the stable lads.”
“What happened? Did he hurt her?” Charlie was beside himself.
“If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d never have believed it. There she was, crooning away in her weird little voice, and that old devil of a horse let her brush him, like he was the most docile creature in the stables, which he ain’t.”
They sighed with relief.
“The trouble was, young Jem saw her and told her to move away from the animal. She answered back when he went to pick her up, and the horse tried to trample him underfoot – almost as if it was looking after the girl. I dunno what she said, but it sounded like gypsy talk to me. They have their own language that animals understand.”
“Where is she?” Charlie’s voice sounded funny.
“We left her there, talking to the horse. It was more than we could do to get her to come out. I doubt she was in any danger.”
Charlie tried to sneak past, but the groom caught his arm.
“Come you here, Charlie. You don’t seem surprised. I reckon you know more about your sister’s knowledge of horses than you let on. You’d better tell me first, because Squire Norbery will have to know.”
Joshua looked at Charlie’s troubled face, and guessed he was debating what to say. His muffled voice was barely discernible.
“There were gypsies on the hillside near the convent where Sophie went to school. When the nuns beat her, she climbed over the wall and ran away. They always found her in the camp. She did it several times in the year before we came here. Poor little girl, I think it was the only time she was happy.”
Early summer 1795
When Squire Norbery summoned Joshua and Charlie to the stables, with express instructions to take Sophie with them, he gave no hint of what lay ahead. It was within a month of her tenth birthday, and Tom knew from his observations in the year since he brought the children from Ireland that Sophie would attend him, but on this occasion had no idea how she would react. That was why he wanted her brother to be there.
She drifted across the stable yard beside the boys, wearing the same grubby black frock and mutinous expression she always wore. No matter how many times she changed her clothes in a day, she never looked tidy. Her black hair seemed permanently tangled and her scuffed boots looked suspiciously like something Charlie might once have worn.
Tom waited until the head groom led a dark brown pony from the stalls. Not one smoothly brushed and neat, like the younger girls would have ridden. This was a perfect match for Sophie, with a suitably ruffled coat, and a disposition best described as truculent.
Sophie turned a wary glance in his direction, and for the first time since her arrival at Linmore, she cried. She did not know whether to run to the horse, or to him. She stood, looking from one to the other, her face a picture of disbelief.
“Is it for me?” she breathed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Uncle Tom… thank you, I’ve never had anything like this before.”
“Yes, Sophie, it’s for you.” Tom’s eyes felt similarly moist, but to overcome his emotion, he said in a brisk tone, “Now, young lady, you have to play your part. Shelwick will teach you to ride and groom the horse, but it will be your responsibility to care for the animal. Do you understand?”
“Oh yes, sir – thank you, sir,” Sophie said, her eyes shining, and then dashed off to hug the pony.
Tom knew he was right to suppose she would not want a quiet little filly to ride. She needed a mount that would test her resilience.
He called after her. “I think you’d better borrow some of Charlie’s old breeches for when you are working in the stables.”
The smile she turned on him was beatific.
“There is one more thing, Sophie. When Shelwick has decreed you are fit to ride to hounds; you may have a riding habit, but I will leave the design to you.”
Sophie nodded, but her attention was elsewhere.
True to his reputation of being a hard man, Tom Shelwick gave her strict instructions about her duties. “Now, Miss Sophie, it is no good you thinking you can come as and when you feel like it. With Squire Norbery’s permission, I’d like to start tomorrow. What time do your lessons finish?”
The girl scowled at him. “I can go to there anytime,” she said. “This is far more important.”
Everyone laughed, thinking Sophie would tire of her responsibilities, but she proved them wrong. The next morning, and every day thereafter, she was in the stables before breakfast, clad in a pair of her brother’s old breeches, ready to break her fast with the stable lads.
She spent two hours following Shelwick’s rigid training schedule, and then groomed the horse until its coat shone and brushed its shoes. Afterwards, she learned how to feed the animal, mix mash, cut chaff, recognise ailments, and apply compresses to strained ligaments. She had never looked happier.
None of the stable lads seemed surprised when the animal let her do as she wished. She forgot everything but the job in hand, and the pride she felt showed in the work she did.
On the few odd occasions when Sophie deigned to visit the nursery classroom, she arrived late for lessons, smelling of horses and shocked the governess with frequent lapses into the language of the stables.
One day, Joshua rode into the stable yard with Charlie. Usually, Sophie gave her brother first consideration, but on this occasion, she ignored them. Shelwick was in full flow, and her eyes did not leave his face for a minute.
Charlie stopped to watch. “D’you know, Josh?” His voice was strangely husky. “I haven’t seen her look like that for years. Our pa was strict with her, and she would do anything for him. I reckon Shelwick has earned her respect; and knowing Sophie, that’s not an easy thing to do.”
Right from the f
irst, Sophie knew no fear. Tumbles came thick and fast, but she climbed doggedly back into the saddle. Once she broke her collarbone, and Shelwick banned her from doing any grooming, but she was determined to make him change his mind. Even with her face grey with pain, she pleaded, cajoled and cursed. She stamped her feet with impotent rage, but to no avail, the head groom was immovable.
“Don’t you come here shouting at me, missy,” he said. “It’s more than my job is worth to let you kill yourself.”
When she snorted and turned away in disgust, the groom called after her retreating figure, “And remember to bring some better manners the next time you come, otherwise you won’t ride any horse in my care.”
Forced to capitulate, Sophie stalked out of the stable yard. For the duration of her stormy convalescence, she made everyone’s life a misery, until Shelwick allowed her back in the saddle. Only then was she happy.
When Squire Norbery asked for a report on her progress, Shelwick shook his head. “I’ve tried me best, sir, but there’s no stopping her. The silly little wench throws her heart over every time. Lucky it was only her that was hurt and not the horse.”
The same obstinacy showed in the design of her riding habit. Sophie had no time for girlish notions of propriety. She knew what she wanted and stated her preference, but the dressmaker refused to comply. A battle of wills raged between them, which each was determined to win.
Eventually, someone had to adjudicate. Tom Norbery knew a side-saddle was an anathema to Sophie. The black riding habit she wanted was of a military style, with a divided skirt. The matching hat, a shako, was similarly severe.
Tom made his judgement, knowing he had given her carte blanche in the design, and was not about to renege on his promise. Admittedly, the style was bold for a female, but from what he could see, culottes were eminently suitable for riding. When he approved her choice, Sophie crowed with delight, but then he attempted to placate the dressmaker’s offended sensibilities.
“I’m sure you will agree, ma’am, in the event of Sophie being unseated on the hunting field, such a habit would be more decorous than a skirt.”
“Uncle Tom!” Sophie was outraged. “I almost never take a tumble nowadays.”
“Do you not?” he said with a smile. “I felt sure preserving your modesty was your main reason for wanting the design.”
With that, she had to be satisfied.
The finished outfit effected a remarkable change in Sophie’s demeanour. With the training in horsemanship and improvement in her appearance, all trace of the clumsy, inept child of early years disappeared, and someone determined to be the best emerged.
Her real character showed when she was on the hunting field. She flaunted her divided skirts, showing contempt for women using a side-saddle. She was always happiest out in front with the leaders, taking her fences like a man, challenging her brother and Joshua to keep up with her. And they tested her to the limit.
Tom could see it was a matter of honour, for they could not afford to have a girl beat them, particularly one who was younger. If she fell at a fence, she cursed profanely, but was back on the horse in an instant.
There was no doubt her riding style commanded respect, and he noticed even Joshua agreed when Charlie said,
“Sophie’s a good ’un.”
CHAPTER 11
1798
Charlie’s voice broke first. At fourteen and a half, he was the eldest. Joshua’s tone deepened a few weeks later and he was easily the tallest and leanest.
Tom heard the news of the gruff voices in a letter that Jane sent to London. Although she made light of the event, it was obvious the lads were growing up and he knew before long that they would be kicking up all kinds of larks if they stayed at Linmore.
It was a good thing Matthew went straight from university to a tour of Italy; otherwise, there would have been confrontations – and might still be on his return home. The question was how to avoid it.
If it had not been for Sophie, they would have gone to boarding school. Another option was some kind of tour. As a young man, Tom travelled through much of Europe with his younger brother, and he wanted them to have the same opportunity to broaden their outlook.
It would be a wrench to send them away, but with their avowed ambition to be soldiers, the natural progression was something with a military slant, and Tom knew the erudite Dr Hawley was passionate about history. Before he could set plans in motion, something else took precedence.
In the previous spring season, a bout of influenza caused the cancellation of Caroline’s presentation at Court. To delay her coming out further was unthinkable, which was why, a few weeks into the new year, the family from Linmore travelled to Cavendish Square, to stay in the Pontesbury household.
Tom’s sister, Winifred, offered to bring Caroline out with her eldest daughter, Leticia. Then she extended the invitation to Lord and Lady Cardington for their daughter, Henrietta. Rather than leave the younger members of the family at home, Tom decided it was time they visited London.
Joshua and Charlie had no interest in presentations at Court or attending select dancing assemblies. They heard mention of Almack’s Club until they were heartily sick of the name. It seemed a fool’s errand for any girl to go there, simply to find a husband. From what they could see, it was an excuse to spend a vast amount of money on fancy frocks and frippery things of no value to anyone.
The house in Cavendish Square was in a state of flux, with three branches of the family in residence, and three young ladies preparing for their Court presentation. Nevertheless, Mrs Pontesbury was equal to the task of launching them into society – not least because when she requested attention, the world of milliners and modistes beat a path to her door.
Although considered eccentric by her contemporaries, every tradesperson who performed a satisfactory service for the lady knew they were assured of prompt payment. It was a powerful incentive.
For the young folk of the family, encountering the situation for the first time, it was a nightmare. The brass doorknocker on the black front door was never still, No sooner did the footman close the door on one visitor, leaving a calling card, than another arrived to make a morning call.
Below stairs, a porter was stationed by the tradesman’s entrance to take delivery of clothes and hatboxes, which came several times an hour. Even worse was the profusion of floral offerings, inscribed with inane sentiments from a host of admirers. These were a source of amusement. Having read some of the ill-spelled sonnets and odes to the young ladies’ relative blue, grey or brown eyes, Joshua and Charlie decided the writers of such nonsense must be touched in the head. Either that or they were bosky.
Aunt Winifred’s youngest son made fun of everything, and thought it a great wheeze to swap the name cards around to cause confusion. When his mother demanded an explanation, Joshua and Charlie pushed him forward to receive his punishment. It was nothing to do with them.
The following day, Teddy Pontesbury retaliated by making an outlandish comment, which deprived Joshua of breath.
“D’you know chaps?” he said, including Sophie in their numbers. “I bet old Josh could write a better ode to Sophie’s smile than this tripe.”
Joshua froze at such a thought, and Charlie’s brow puckered as he heard the words. Then he grinned and tapped his fingers to his head. Joshua nodded agreement. Pontesbury was a duffer.
“What d’you mean, Sophie’s smile?” he said. Only a half-wit would suggest that. How could you pay tribute to something that did not exist? Everyone knew Sophie glowered most ferociously, and grimaced like nobody else – but she never smiled.
There was no peace for anyone. The lads watched the goings on in a state of bemusement from the upper floors. How glad they were not to be involved in what seemed a predatory occupation, which they likened to a foxhunt.
When Sophie curled her lip at such activities, they were in full agreement. They could only hope three determined females seeking a husband would not set their hopes on one unfortu
nate fellow and tear him limb from limb. Although the families purported to be friends, the degree of competition between the young ladies was beyond comprehension. If it were not for the risk of injures, they might just as well have let a prize fight decide the matter. It would be more interesting for the menfolk to watch.
It was a joy to learn that Lord Cardington’s second son, Frederick, a Captain in the Life Guards, was on furlough. The sight of his military uniform made them restive. They wanted time to go faster, but were more than happy when he offered to take them to Horse Guards Parade. The visit was an outstanding success. They questioned him incessantly about his duties; and hung on his every word as he told them action-packed stories.
Most evenings, Fred and Augustus Pontesbury went off on the town with their friends or to social functions with the family, leaving the younger members at home. Teddy Pontesbury taught them to play cards. He was even more of a slow top than before, and had an irritating habit of waggling his eyebrows when he was talking, which amused Sophie. They were soon firm friends.
While Joshua and Charlie struggled to understand Teddy’s version of Whist, which fell short of the original rules, Sophie grasped the essentials and was quickly engrossed. When she asked Teddy to show her how to play Loo, he was happy to explain.
“The general idea, Sophie, is that any card player who fails to take a trick has to pay a forfeit into the pool. In this case, we’ll use tokens, so you won’t be out of pocket.”
“No,” she said in disgust, “they’re worthless. Why can’t we use pennies?”
Being only a girl, Teddy decided to humour her, but he underestimated her aptitude. Sophie had a quick eye for detail and ruthlessly played to her own set of rules. When they exchanged cards for dice, she exhibited a deft turn of the wrist. By the end of the evening she clutched a handful of coins. No doubt a beginner’s luck.
After the third such evening’s occupation, Teddy Pontesbury viewed her balefully and asked, “Have you played before?”
Brothers at Arms Page 12
