It’s no good, she thought in frustration. I can’t see anything. I’ll have to wait for the morning.
She went back to bed, glad to creep in under the covers, for the fire had died down and the room was getting cold. Once in bed, she blew out the candle and lay listening to the wind moaning round the house, and the distant sound of the waves pounding on the rocks at the foot of the cliff – the rocks where poor Jocelyn’s broken body had been found.
And now there was a door; a door from her room into Jocelyn’s. When they were all children, her mother, Matty and Jocelyn, they must have wandered at will from one room to the other, the door seldom closed as they played together. Tomorrow, Sophie decided, she would try and move the wardrobe a little and see if the door was locked.
11
Sophie wasn’t sure why she was so determined to open the door and to look into Jocelyn’s room, a room which no one had entered for twenty-five years, but the idea consumed her. Of course she knew that the door was probably locked, that she wouldn’t be able to open it, but until that proved to be the case, well, it was an exciting prospect. She would need time, uninterrupted, in her room with enough daylight to see what she was doing; but what reason could she give for retiring to her room during the day?
The sound of Hannah outside her bedroom door brought Sophie sharply away from the wardrobe, so that when Hannah came into the room with the heavy jug of hot water, she was once again at the window, a picture of innocence, looking out over the wind-tossed garden below.
After breakfast Sophie spent an hour with AliceAnne in the schoolroom, before she was summoned to the library to read to her grandfather, and when the gong rang for lunch the rain was still streaming from a leaden sky. As they crossed to the dining room, Sophie heard someone striking notes on the piano in the drawing room and thought for a moment that it might be AliceAnne, but as the child came downstairs at that moment she guessed that the piano tuner must have come. She was delighted and said as much to Charles when he joined them in the dining room.
‘I shall look forward to hearing you play,’ he replied in his stiff and formal manner.
During the meal, Louisa asked Sophie what she planned to do that afternoon and she replied, ‘If you have no need of me, Aunt, I think I may rest in my room for a while and then, if the rain eases, perhaps I’ll take a walk to get some fresh air.’
Louisa looked surprised at this. ‘Really?’
‘Certainly,’ Sophie replied, ‘and I could take AliceAnne with me if you would like me to.’
‘No,’ Louisa replied firmly. ‘It’s too cold and damp for AliceAnne. She has a weak chest and mustn’t be allowed out in such weather.’
‘In that case, since the piano tuner has been, perhaps AliceAnne would like another piano lesson.’ She turned to the little girl sitting beside her. ‘Would you like that, AliceAnne?’
‘Oh yes, please, Aunt Sophie.’
‘Good,’ returned Sophie as she left the table. ‘I’ll come and find you a bit later on.’
Within moments of Sophie reaching her room and closing the door, there was a knock and Hannah entered. ‘Now then, Miss Sophie,’ she said, standing, hands on hips, just inside the door. ‘What’s all this about having a rest? Are you ill? Do you have the headache?’
‘No, no, Hannah,’ Sophie assured her. ‘I’m not ill. I’m fine. It’s just that I didn’t sleep very well last night, with the storm raging outside, you know, so I thought, as it’s still raining, I’d have half an hour on my bed.’
Hannah, unconvinced, looked at her suspiciously. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you’re sure...’
‘I am sure,’ Sophie said again. ‘I’ll be down again in a little while, really. I’ve promised AliceAnne.’
Hannah gave her a nod. ‘I’ll leave you to sleep then.’
When Hannah’s footsteps had faded down the stairs, Sophie got off the bed and turned the key in her bedroom door. At least no one could walk in unannounced and surprise her and if Hannah came back, well, she’d say she locked the door so that AliceAnne wouldn’t come and disturb her. Now, finally, she could turn her attention to the wardrobe.
The old armoire was heavy. Sophie had known it would be, but by bracing herself against the wall, she was able to edge it a little way forward, just enough at least to slide her hand in behind. The sound of it scraping across the wooden floorboards seemed incredibly loud, and for several anxious moments Sophie waited, but hearing no one coming to investigate, she turned again to the wardrobe. The draught she’d noticed during the night was still in evidence, definitely coming from under the connecting door, though perhaps less strongly now that the wind had dropped somewhat.
Sophie pressed herself against the wall, her cheek against the faded wallpaper, and extended her arm into the gap. She could feel the smooth wood of the door panels now, but still couldn’t reach the handle. Cobwebs curtained the space between wardrobe and door, and a grey sticky web was clinging to her hand when she withdrew it.
I have to move this thing further, she thought, pulling at the cobwebs that filmed her skin. I have to ease it out far enough for me to get in behind.
Once again she strained at the heavy piece of furniture, and was gradually able to inch one end further away from the door. Picking up a towel from the dresser rail, she wrapped it round her arm and, using it as a makeshift duster, she cleared most of the cobwebs away. Tossing the now dirty towel aside, she turned sideways and edged into the space she’d made. She was squashed between the wardrobe and the door, her cheek against its smooth wood, but at last she could take a firm grip on its handle. The handle was stiff but, exerting all her strength, she managed to turn it. The door remained stubbornly closed. It was locked.
Well, thought Sophie, ruefully, I suppose I knew it would be.
Bending down, she tried to put her eye to the keyhole, but she couldn’t bend low enough in the confined space to reach it. Determined that all her effort should not be wasted, she put her hands flat against the wall and with her back against the wardrobe, strained with all her might to lever it further away. At first she thought she wasn’t going to be able to shift it, but then suddenly, with an ominous creak, it slid another few inches from the wall. For one dreadful moment Sophie thought it was going to topple over. But although it shuddered a little and its door swung open with a crash, allowing some of her clothes to tumble out onto the floor, it remained upright.
At last, there was enough room and, heedless of whether anyone might have heard the noise, Sophie turned back to the door and bent over, placing an eye to the keyhole. A breath of air escaping through the hole made her blink, but when she applied her eye a second time, she found she could see daylight. There was no key in the other side, nothing to block the narrow view she now had of the room.
A chair, she could see a chair, and... was that part of a desk? The corner of a bedstead? A finger of pale sunlight struck the back of the chair, and she could see that it was covered in a thick film of dust. The dust, she thought, of twenty-five years.
She was brought sharply back to the present by a rap on the door, and the sound of Hannah’s voice on the landing. ‘Miss Sophie? Are you all right, Miss Sophie? I’ve brought you some tea.’
Tea? Whatever time was it? Sophie glanced at the little watch pinned to her bodice and saw with amazement that an hour had passed since she’d come upstairs. She’d been so determined to get to the door she’d been entirely unaware of the passage of time.
‘Just a minute, Hannah,’ she said, and looked round the room in dismay. There was no way she could move the wardrobe back against the wall without a great deal of effort; her disgorged clothes lay on the floor and the cobwebbed towel hung on the back of a chair. A glance in the mirror showed her that she was as be-cobwebbed as the towel. Grey strands lay across her hair and her face was streaked and grubby. No, there was no way of hiding what she’d been doing from Hannah; she’d just have to take her into her confidence.
Reluctantly, Sophie crossed the room and o
pened the door. Hannah was outside on the landing, a tea tray in her hands. When she saw the state Sophie was in, Hannah nearly dropped the tray.
‘Come in quickly,’ Sophie hissed, and as Hannah came into the room, Sophie hurriedly closed the door behind her and turned the key.
Hannah put the tray down on the dresser and said, ‘What on earth have you been doing, Miss Sophie?’ She ran her eyes over the wardrobe, its open door, the clothes on the floor. ‘No resting, and that’s a fact! I knew you was up to something when you said you wanted a nap. You! Resting in the afternoon... in broad daylight? Never, I said, or my name’s not Hannah Butts.’
‘Yes, and you were right,’ conceded Sophie with a rueful smile. ‘But if I tell you what I’ve been doing, you mustn’t say anything about it downstairs. Promise?’
‘Well...’ began Hannah cautiously.
‘Come on, Hannah,’ pleaded Sophie. ‘I want to tell you all about it.’
‘Well, if you say so, Miss Sophie—’
‘I do, Hannah. Look, I’ve found a door. Behind the wardrobe. A connecting door to the next room. That was Jocelyn’s room.’
‘Yes,’ Hannah said. ‘But what are you doing?’
‘My grandfather had the room closed up when Jocelyn died. Aunt Matty says that no one has been into it in twenty-five years.’ She looked a little sheepishly at Hannah and said, ‘I just wanted to see into it, that’s all. I found the door by accident. But when I had found it, well, I just wondered if it was unlocked.’
‘Miss Sophie, you should be ashamed of yourself,’ said Hannah hotly. ‘What right have you to go poking your nose into things what don’t concern you?’
‘I wasn’t poking my nose in, Hannah,’ snapped Sophie, angry that Hannah should have pricked her conscience. For a moment they confronted each other across the heap of clothes on the floor, and then Sophie continued more calmly. ‘I’m not being nosey, Hannah. I’m interested, that’s all. Jocelyn was my mother’s brother, my uncle. Why has he been shut up here for twenty-five years? Why is he never mentioned? What did he do wrong?’
‘It’s just your grandfather doesn’t want to have sad memories of losing his son,’ responded Hannah gently. ‘It makes him sad to think of his son dying so young. Talking about him would open old wounds.’
‘But he talks about my grandmother, and she’s dead,’ Sophie pointed out. ‘No, Hannah, I’m sure there’s something more to it than that. He’s cut Jocelyn off. It’s what he does when someone has angered him, or gone against his wishes. He cuts them off... just like he did with Mama.’ She glanced at the wardrobe, still at an angle to the wall, its door hanging open. ‘But, anyway, I can’t get into Jocelyn’s room, because this door’s locked too.’
‘Did you really think it wouldn’t be?’ asked Hannah as she began picking up the clothes from the floor and hanging them up again.
‘No, not really, I suppose,’ replied Sophie. ‘But I thought it was worth a try.’
Hannah was now complicit in Sophie’s exploration and together they eased the old armoire back against its wall, concealing again the door behind it. Then, as she drank the tea Hannah had brought, Sophie suffered Hannah to brush out her hair again, so that when she descended the stairs half an hour later there was no sign of the cobwebs that had so lately turned it a premature grey.
The drizzling rain had stopped at last, giving way to occasional shafts of watery sun, and Sophie decided to take a walk to the village. AliceAnne was nowhere to be seen, and so Sophie set off across the cliff path by herself. She had no particular aim in her walk; she just needed to get out of the house and stretch her legs. It was still windy, but the gusts were now scurrying the clouds across the sky, ragged wisps of white against the sombre grey. With the wind in her face Sophie strode out, following the path to the cliff edge. Once again she saw the tops of little paths that disappeared down the cliff face to coves below, but with the wind buffeting her, she had more sense than to try and clamber down a path that was probably both steep and slippery. It had been hard enough yesterday when there were steps and a rope to help her. Pausing at the top of one such, she leaned over as far as she dared, to look down on the beach below. She could see a curve of sand, gleaming dully in the afternoon light, embraced by two rocky arms stretching out into the sea, very similar to the one she had explored the previous afternoon. The grey sea, its waves white-capped, pounded the vicious black rocks, exploding with spray and sending fountains of spume up high into the air. Some of the spindrift was carried on the wind, and Sophie found that she was getting wet, even this high above the breaking waves. The cliff itself had been undercut by the weather, and the thick grasses which overhung the eroded edge thrashed in the gusty wind.
Was it this path? Sophie wondered. Was it here that Jocelyn fell to his death? Had he, disorientated by the swirling sea mist, stepped on the unsupported grass and tumbled, flailing, to the rocks below?
Sophie shuddered at the horrible death he had suffered and stepped hurriedly back onto the pathway, well away from the cliff edge.
It was a relief to reach the steps leading down into Port Felec. Here it was a little more sheltered, and she had less of a struggle against the wind. She followed the narrow street down to the quay and stood for a moment on Fore Street, looking out at the low-tide expanse of muddy shingle enclosed by the harbour wall. Small boats lay canted on their sides, waiting to be refloated by the rising tide, and one or two larger fishing vessels were tied up along the outer side of the harbour wall where the water was deeper. So much of life in Port Felec depends on the sea, Sophie thought.
Across the square she could see lights beginning to flicker in the windows of The Clipper; the evening was closing in. Sophie knew she ought to be going back home, and so she turned her steps to the road that led back out of the village. She had no wish to take the cliff path again today. As she climbed the steep hill that led up towards Trescadinnick, she paused to catch her breath and, turning back, looked down once more on the little village below. The church stood in solid, grey darkness as the twilight closed in around it, but there was a light shining out through one of the windows of the Parsonage.
I wonder what the rector’s like, Sophie thought. Is he an old man? Hannah had said that he was a widower, looked after by his daughter, Sandra. Had he been the incumbent when her mother and Jocelyn were still at Trescadinnick, she wondered. Had he known them? Was Jocelyn buried in the little churchyard that surrounded the church and looked out over the sea?
Tomorrow, I’ll come again, Sophie thought. I’ll go into the church and I’ll look in the churchyard; see if I can find Jocelyn’s grave.
*
When she finally got back to Trescadinnick there was still an hour before she needed to dress for dinner. She could hear AliceAnne’s voice in the kitchen with Hannah and so Sophie went back into the drawing room to practise the piece she intended to play for her grandfather this evening. The fire had been lit, and a lamp stood on the corner of the piano. Almost, she thought, as though someone had been expecting her to come in and play. She lit the candles in the sconces attached to the piano itself and sat down. She looked through the sheets waiting for her on the stand and then, flexing her fingers, started to play. This time it was not AliceAnne who interrupted her, but Charles.
‘You are an accomplished pianist, cousin.’ Despite their agreement to dispense with ‘cousin’ and address each other by their Christian names, Charles seldom did so. It was, he decided, another way to keep her at arm’s length. Sophie had noticed, but she shrugged it off. She had made the suggestion as an offer of friendship. If he didn’t want to take it, it was no skin off her nose. She’d be returning home soon and could forget all about his antipathy.
Now he spoke from just behind her and, unaware that he’d come into the room, Sophie jerked her hands away from the keys, startled.
‘I’m sorry, cousin,’ he apologized. ‘I didn’t mean to make you jump.’
‘It’s all right,’ replied Sophie, turning from the keybo
ard. ‘I didn’t hear you come in. Have you been there long?’
‘Long enough,’ Charles said with a smile. ‘You really do play beautifully.’
Sophie smiled back at him, amazed at the way his smile swept years from his face, lighting his eyes and transforming his normal gravity of expression to one of attractive animation. ‘Thank you, Charles,’ was all she could think of to say.
‘Will you really be able to teach AliceAnne to play?’ he asked, as she rested her hands once more on the keys.
‘Certainly,’ Sophie told him, ‘provided she wants to learn. Just a short time each day, so that she doesn’t get bored. I think,’ she added with a speaking glance at him, ‘that any individual attention she gets will do her good.’
The smile faded from Charles’s eyes, but he didn’t look angry. ‘I expect you’re right,’ he sighed. ‘But I have to rely on my mother for her schooling. I haven’t time to teach her, and there’s been no one else.’
‘Charles,’ Sophie took her courage in both hands, ‘she needs other children to play with.’
‘There are none suitable,’ replied Charles flatly.
‘There must be some, somewhere around. What about the Parsonage?’
‘Dr Phineas Osell is a widower, and Miss Sandra Osell is unmarried.’
Miss Mary’s Daughter Page 13
