The Secrets of Sophia Musgrove

by Janey Louise Jones

  I was immediately reminded of Lily's gossip about Mr Archer and the slave ships. I tried to remember what I had heard of the slave trade, but I felt horribly ignorant at that moment. Hitherto, all I had really cared about were hairstyles and French fashions.

  'I am concerned about such problems, certainly,' I replied slowly. 'I would like to know more about them, but Papa does not discuss politics with ladies.'

  'I understand. Many gentlemen consider ladies unable to follow the intricacies of political debate, but I have always found the fairer sex to be just as able as any of us men,' he said, smiling at me.

  'I agree wholeheartedly,' I said fervently. 'Besides, these issues affect us all,' I added.

  'Indeed,' Mr Stevens agreed, looking more serious. 'I am most disturbed by the cruelty of slavery. The trading of people who happen to have a darker skin than ourselves is one of the practices I actively oppose.'

  He was voicing an opinion that I had shared ever since the gossip about Mr Archer had prompted me to start thinking about the slave trade for myself. I would have liked to discuss it further, but at this point Mrs Willow cleared her throat anxiously and Mr Stevens promptly changed the subject. We spoke about Estella and Mr Dovetail and the glorious occasion of their wedding.

  'It was a lovely day, indeed,' said Mr Stevens. 'I didn't think I'd ever see anyone brave enough to take on old Percy Dovetail. The luck's all his!'

  Mrs Willow and I laughed. Of course, we completely agreed that in marrying our lovely Estella Mr Dovetail had got the best of the deal.

  As Mr Stevens rose to leave, I felt a sudden pang of anxiety at the thought that I might not see him again, but he soon set my mind at rest.

  'Do you enjoy the chocolate shop in Mayfair, Miss Musgrove?' he enquired.

  'It is one of my favourite places,' I replied.

  'Mine too. In fact, I shall be there next Tuesday from eleven,' he told me.

  I smiled, reassured that he wanted to see me again, and he turned to say his goodbyes to Mrs Willow.

  As we moved towards the door, I caught my skirts and accidentally knocked into Mr Stevens, dropping my fan. He promptly apologized, though the fault was mine, and as we both bent to retrieve the fan his blue eyes danced and he added with a smile, 'With luck we may bump into each other again soon . . .'

  I couldn't wait for our next rendezvous. I was forever thinking about everything Marcus and I had discussed and I was curious to learn more about slavery. I told Lucy all about him in a letter.

  She soon replied:

  I recall him from the wedding, and he is a dream to look at, I must admit. I cannot wait to meet him properly. I am quite smitten with Mr Archer, Sophie. We are forever in each other's company these days and I don't know how I lived before I met him!

  I persuaded Mrs Willow to set off early from Musgrove House on the Tuesday as I wanted to look at baby clothes before going to the Maison du Chocolat. There were the most adorable little garments in Bennets baby outfitters and drapers, as well as beautiful baby carriages, shawls and bedding. We browsed in there for half an hour or more and I opened an account in my father's name as I fancied we'd be going there often from now on.

  'We will have some things sent down to Mama,' I said, 'for there is nowhere fancy like this in Whistling Sparrows.'

  Mrs Willow pursed her lips. 'Bad luck to buy before the baby's delivered, Sophie,' she said. 'But we will come back here as soon as the new little Musgrove has hatched.'

  I laughed at her turn of phrase.

  As eleven o'clock approached, I suggested to Mrs Willow that we treat ourselves to a cup of hot chocolate and a slice of all-butter shortbread at the chocolate shop.

  'Oh, what a lovely idea, Sophie,' she replied agreeably. If she recalled that Mr Stevens had said he would be in there at this time she did not mention it, and I felt relieved that things were going so smoothly to plan.

  My heart started to beat faster as we entered the delicious-smelling Maison du Chocolat. I tried to glance around the shop without appearing to do so. I didn't want Marcus to think I was too keen. At first I could not spot him, but then my eyes found him sitting by a window, reading a newspaper. And, what luck! There was Mrs Willow's best friend, Mrs Davenport, sitting in a booth with her charge, little Lady Marina – who was ten years of age and a bit of a brat.

  'Oh, Mrs Willow. See who it is!' I exclaimed as we were shown to a table and took our seats.

  Once Mrs Willow had taken off her hat and coat, she hurried over to greet her friend. And a moment later, Marcus came to join me at our table. Though we sat in the middle of a bustling chocolate shop, I revelled in this privacy – of a kind – at last!

  'Miss Musgrove, how nice it is to see you again,' he said with a bow. 'And you are even lovelier than I remembered – if that is possible.' As he spoke, I noticed that his blue eyes sparkled.

  I blushed, but I was anxious to show him that I was not merely a vain female but also possessed of a good brain and a desire to use it. 'I have been thinking about our previous conversation,' I told him. 'I am anxious to learn more about the slave trade, Mr Stevens. Perhaps you could educate me?'

  'Me?' he said with a smile. 'But I fear I would bore you,' he protested.

  'No, really. I would like to know,' I insisted. 'And I have no one to talk to me of such things.'

  He nodded and looked thoughtful at this. 'Well, it is a brutal and barbaric practice, I'm afraid,' he said seriously. 'These people are shackled and chained on filthy ships, and many die during the terrible crossings from Africa. Those who survive the journey do not arrive to a pleasant life. I have heard of a "gentle- man" who played a game of cards with his slave as the prize money! Can you imagine the humiliation of such a thing?'

  I shook my head. 'It is unthinkable,' I agreed.

  'I believe it is evil to judge people by the colour of their skin, Miss Musgrove, or by the misfortune of their birth. It makes me ill with shame that we treat these people in such a way,' Mr Stevens said, looking grave. 'But let us change the subject. This is all too sad and depressing.'

  'No, it is interesting,' I protested, feeling myself awakening to a horror right here in my own city, on my very doorstep.

  At my insistence, Mr Stevens carried on. 'As we sit here today, there are boats docking at East India Quay, full of innocent men and women who have been chained up, beaten and starved. They endure unspeakable hardships, Miss Musgrove. It is a disgraceful way to treat fellow humans.'

  I nodded. 'I could not agree with you more. It is vile to treat others with cruelty.'

  'You are a remarkable young woman, with the same beauty on the inside that is so apparent on the outside,' Mr Stevens said. 'Just remember, when you consider the horrors of slavery, that there is no need for you to be controlled by the men in society. You can think for yourself and make sure your voice is heard.'

  I was gazing into his deep blue eyes and hanging on his every word when, all of a sudden, Lucy came into the chocolate shop, accompanied by Lady Lennox and Mr Archer.

  'Hello! I say, Sophie, what a lovely coincidence that we should all be here at the same time. May we join you? And won't you introduce us?' Lucy winked at me and I could tell that she was delighted to have the opportunity to finally meet Mr Stevens. I introduced everyone and for the next few minutes we chatted about society gossip and mutual friends.

  I was hoping for some more private conversation with Mr Stevens, but as Lucy, Lady Lennox and Mr Archer rose to leave, Mrs Willow returned to my side and Mr Stevens immediately leaped up and excused himself. I said goodbye to him rather reluctantly and then dreamily sipped on my creamy hot chocolate for the next half-hour – after which Mrs Willow and I made our way to the coach stand in Piccadilly, where our driver, Matthew, was waiting for us.

  I was desperate to ask Papa what he thought about the slave trade. I had never heard him discuss it, even though I knew he must deal with such matters all the time at Westminster. I must confess that I had always been rather bored by his work in the past, bu
t recent events had made me determined to take more of an interest.

  At dinner that evening I quizzed Papa on the subject, but he was not keen to talk about it.

  'Sophie,' he sighed, 'how will we ever marry you well if you turn down the offers of fine gentlemen and then persist in engaging in topics of conversation entirely unsuitable for a young lady of your birth? What am I to do with you? Many fathers would enforce a marriage to the likes of Sandford. He has written to me to say that he is happy to wait for you to mature a little. He is very smitten, my dear. Now, enough of this political talk. You don't understand how complicated it all is.'

  I stood up, furious that he was so quick to dismiss my interest in politics. 'Papa, I was wrong to let you give Lord Sandford false hope,' I said firmly. 'I shall never marry him. And I shall not abandon my interest in the slave trade. Have you something to hide that you will not discuss this with me?'

  Mrs Willow cast her eyes downwards, not knowing where to look, but I could not be submissive any longer. Mr Stevens had shown me that I was a person in my own right and that not everyone disapproved of a woman who could think for herself. My father wanted to control me, but I had changed.

  'Sophia Musgrove, go to your room! You are becoming most unladylike and I have a duty to stifle these changes in you before you turn into a wanton radical whom no decent man will marry!'

  I sped from the room, happy to get away. Only Marcus understood my thoughts and feelings, it seemed. Papa simply thought my concerns over the slave trade 'unsuitable'.

  I realized that my family life was changing in ways I did not like. Estella was married and gone, my mother was far away at the Daisy Park, struggling through her confinement, and though my father had not changed, perhaps, I found I did not admire him as I once had. How could I respect this man who insisted on shielding me from the realities of the world? And, worse, what if he was one of the terrible men who encouraged slavery? I could not bear it if that were the case. As I lay on my bed, thinking, I resolved to find out more about a subject that now consumed all my thoughts – along with the handsome and fascinating Marcus Stevens.

  Chapter Eleven

  My moods were very changeable over the next days, but I was hugely cheered when a note arrived from Marcus.

  My dear Miss Musgrove,

  I hope this finds you well. I am as bewitched by you as ever and torture myself that you will fall for the charms of another gentleman, but I can only hope that no one will claim your heart.

  Your remarkable intelligence and our recent conversation has moved me to let you know about a very informative meeting to be held in Clerkenwell next week regarding the evils of the slave trade. I have written the details below. I would be there to escort you, and can only add that it would be an honour if you wished to join me.

  With warmest wishes,

  Marcus Stevens

  I wrote back immediately.

  Dear Mr Stevens

  Thank you for your letter. I would be most interested to attend the meeting. You have changed the way I think about the world in general and our society in particular. I am very much looking forward to seeing you there,

  Sophia Musgrove

  I knew Lucy was still at the Penningtons' London home, so Mrs Willow and I dropped in on her one morning shortly before the meeting.

  'Sophia Musgrove!' she exclaimed as soon as we were seated in a private corner. 'You're in love!'

  I blushed.

  'Is it Mr Stevens?' she demanded.

  I confessed to Lucy that I was indeed falling under the spell of Marcus Stevens.

  'Ooh, I knew it!' she declared. 'I saw the way you were gazing at him in the chocolate shop. Now, tell me all. I tell you everything!'

  This was quite true. She wrote to me often about her growing romance with Mr Archer. (She still didn't know his first name!)

  'Lucy, if you stop talking for a moment, I promise I will tell you all about him,' I said, laughing.

  Her face was a picture of excitement and confusion as I told her how I felt.

  'Sophie, he might be risky!' she said at last. 'He is not much seen on the social circuit. All we know of him is what Mr Dovetail said – and can we trust Mr Dovetail's judgement?'

  'Lucy, Mr Stevens doesn't do this silly Season thing. He's a thinker, an intellectual,' I explained.

  'Ooh, la-di-dah!' giggled Lucy. 'Are you trying to say I won't understand him? Just you watch those clever types, Sophia Musgrove. They're cunning!'

  But there was nothing anyone could say to me to put me off Marcus Stevens. I worshipped him.

  I am not proud of myself for the way in which I eventually got over to Clerkenwell for the meeting. We had a brand-new trainee coachman called Sid. He had a cheeky look about him, which was what gave me the idea: in exchange for a case of ale from our cellar he agreed to take me over to the meeting and wait for me for the homeward trip.

  I had never tried to bribe our staff before – but what was a little underhandedness when I was joining the fight against a huge social injustice? I wasn't hurting anyone, and I certainly did not want to let Marcus down.

  As I sat in the meeting, which was held in the salon of Lady Arniston, by all accounts a famous social campaigner, I felt terribly ignorant again. I had little knowledge of the details discussed, which made me feel dim and dull. I took notes to make myself appear more earnest, but at least I was not faking my disgust at the slave trade as they described the details.

  I was deeply touched by what I heard that night. When Lady Arniston held aloft branding irons and thumbscrews, as well as jaw openers and hand irons, I was aghast. She said that such devices of torture were regularly used to control the slaves on the journeys from their native countries. I wept at that.

  'And now, turning to the march,' said Marcus, 'we need you all to support the powerless and give of your time at the protest march through the City of London . . .'

  It transpired that in a few weeks' time a whole group of people were planning to march through the streets of Westminster in protest against the slave trade. Marcus explained where to meet and instructed everyone to wear grey or brown so as not to outshine the message that would be painted on white banners.

  'Before we end the meeting,' he concluded, 'I would like to introduce you all to a new member – Miss Sophia Musgrove, daughter of Lord Musgrove, the famous politician.' All eyes turned to me with interest. 'Miss Musgrove, will you accompany us on our protest march next month?' he asked.

  'Er, I hope so . . . unless I am away in the country,' I stammered, wondering how on earth I could do anything so radical with a chaperone such as Mrs Willow watching over me.

  After the meeting Marcus accompanied me to my carriage. 'Goodbye, Miss Musgrove,' he said. 'I hope I will see you at the march.'

  'Yes, I hope so too,' I replied, and with a smile and a bow Marcus went back inside.

  'You're taking risks, miss,' said Sid. 'We both are. And I don't know which one of us would be in more trouble if we got found out!'

  'I'm sorry to put you in this position,' I replied. 'Am I to take it that you would not do this for me again?'

  'Well, I didn't say that exactly,' Sid said thoughtfully. 'You've got to be careful, that's what I mean.' And I was glad he had not said no, because I thought I might well have need of his secret help again before too long.

  Marcus had mentioned that there was to be an important debate in Parliament the next morning: it related to the proposed bill to end slavery. I desperately wanted to attend.

  'Mrs Willow, I think we shall go to the Palace of Westminster today to hear Papa's cronies debating,' I said after breakfast.

  'Does your father know of this idea of yours?' she asked.

  'No, but it is important that I am educated in these matters, Mrs Willow, if only so that I can understand him better,' I said.

  Poor Mrs Willow looked very worried. 'Your father will not approve,' she sighed. 'But come along and let's get this over with. Just you wait until you see how dull it all is.'
/>
  I was very excited as we took our seats in the public gallery and I spotted Marcus across the aisle. He looked impossibly handsome as he nodded to me politely.

  Suddenly I felt someone sit down beside me and I looked round to find it was Mr Hughes.

  'Miss Musgrove, how are you?' he asked.

  'I am well, thank you, Mr Hughes,' I replied.

  'What brings you here?' he enquired.

  'My interest in the debate topic. I am against the slave trade,' I explained.

  'We are all against it, Miss Musgrove, but it is how to end it that we must debate,' he said solemnly.

  At this point, Marcus looked over and gave me a look which seemed to me to say, Why are you talking to him?

  Mr Hughes must have seen the look, for he said, 'Be careful who you mix with. These are dangerous subjects – ruthless people abound, Miss Musgrove. Do promise me you will be careful.'

  'I will be careful, but not cowardly,' I said pointedly.

  During the debate, which put Mrs Willow into a sound sleep, my father himself spoke about the need for heavier fines on ships' captains who illegally and inhumanely transported slaves. I was proud of him and greatly relieved, for I took this to mean that he was fighting the good fight after all. Mrs Willow woke at the end and looked as if she thought she had made the right decision in allowing me to come when she saw me applauding Papa's words enthusiastically.

  Afterwards, Mr Hughes asked if Mrs Willow and I would join him for coffee to discuss the debate. I saw that Marcus had left and Mrs Willow looked keen, so I agreed. I wanted to be educated in politics. There were whole gaps in my knowledge, which I found very frustrating, and I thought that perhaps Mr Hughes could fill in some of those gaps.

  He found us a table in a lovely new refreshment house, called Harvey's, near the Thames.

  'How is your mother?' he asked as we sat down at a table laid with a pure white cloth and shiny silverware.

  'Well, not better, but we do know what is causing her to feel unwell,' I said.

  'Oh?' he responded.