‘I promised old Mrs Slater that I’d come back and see how she was getting on this afternoon. The poor lady has great difficulty breathing with water in her lungs, and it’s difficult for her to manage when her son is away at sea.’
‘Is there no one else who can help her?’ asked Sophie, touched at the thought of an elderly woman struggling on her own.
‘Oh yes,’ Nicholas Bryan said airily. ‘In villages like these they all look after each other. And of course your Aunt Louisa visits from time to time.’ He glanced at Sophie and seeing the look of surprise on her face, spoke with a lift of his nose. ‘Noblesse oblige!’ And then, to soften what he’d said, he added, ‘These hamlets all lie within the Trescadinnick estate. Mrs Leroy does her duty visits, and they’re appreciated.’
When they reached Tremose the doctor drew up outside a small stone cottage, showing only one door and one window beneath a grey slate roof, and standing a little apart from the others. The village was hardly worthy of the name, being little more than another cluster of houses, grouped round a small inn; there was no church, no shop and no meeting hall. Though it was situated a good half-mile inland, Sophie could see the cliff jutting, dark against the sky, and she could still hear the faint sound of waves breaking on the rocks below. Some of the nearby land was cultivated; small fields marked out with stone hedges, each being a holding for one of the village families in a bid to supplement their meagre diet with home-grown potatoes and vegetables. Beyond the patchwork of walls and tilled land stretched open moorland, and on a rise above the village she could see the stark finger of a mine chimney pointing upward amid a shamble of disused mine buildings.
Was that why this village, in the middle of nowhere, was there at all? she wondered – the home of the miners who, not so long ago, climbed down ladders a hundred feet long to work in the underground levels of the tin and copper mines? Miners who had now moved away to sell their skills elsewhere, leaving empty cottages to fall into disrepair.
‘Will you come in?’ suggested Nicholas, bringing her attention back to him. ‘I’m sure Mrs Slater would love to meet you.’
Sophie looked doubtful. ‘I think you should ask her first,’ she said.
Nicholas went into the cottage, and after several minutes came out again to say that Mrs Slater would indeed like to meet her. ‘What about AliceAnne?’ asked Sophie, thinking of the risk of infection in such an unsavoury-looking cottage. ‘I don’t think she should come inside.’
‘No, better not,’ Nicholas agreed. ‘You go on in. I’ll wait out here with her.’
Glancing back at AliceAnne, still huddled under the blanket, her face pale, her eyes wide, Sophie said, ‘Stay out here with Dr Bryan, AliceAnne. I won’t be long.’
With some trepidation, Sophie knocked on the stout wooden door. A voice called to come in, and she pushed the door open, wondering what sort of squalor she might find inside.
There was none. The cottage consisted of a single room with a tiny staircase leading upward from a corner at the back. Much of the room was taken up with a scrubbed wooden table, a chair to one side and another tucked neatly under it. Beside the fire that smouldered on the hearth was an old wooden rocking chair, and half hidden in a tiny alcove beyond the chimneypiece was a truckle bed. Though small, the place was clean and tidy. Mrs Slater was sitting at the kitchen table and as Sophie entered she tried to stand up.
Sophie held out a hand and said, ‘No, no, please, Mrs Slater, don’t get up. I was outside in the gig, and I just popped in to say hallo.’
‘You’re Miss Mary’s girl,’ she said.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ answered Sophie, and indicating the spare chair she added, ‘May I?’
Mrs Slater waved a hand by way of invitation. ‘Would have knowed you anywhere,’ she said.
Sophie smiled. ‘Am I so like my mother?’
Mrs Slater shook her head. ‘No, not like your ma, like your uncle. Like Jocelyn.’
‘Jocelyn?’ Sophie was startled. ‘Did you know my Uncle Jocelyn?’
‘’Course I did, bless you,’ wheezed the old woman. ‘Everyone knowed Jocelyn.’
‘And I look like him?’ Sophie found she could hardly breathe, she was so excited.
‘Well, you got his colouring, that dark red hair and them green eyes. Oh, he was a looker, I can tell you, your Uncle Jocelyn. Many a local girl lost her heart to him.’ She looked at Sophie with interest. ‘They must have told you, up at the big house, must have said you was the image?’
‘No,’ replied Sophie. ‘No, they didn’t say. They...’ she hesitated, ‘they don’t talk about him much.’
‘No,’ Mrs Slater sighed. ‘No, I suppose they wouldn’t. Not when he committed suicide and all... must have been a dreadful shock to them, that must. Well, it was to everyone. Not the sort of man to take his own life, wasn’t Jocelyn Penvarrow...’ She broke off as she realized that Sophie was staring at her in consternation.
‘You didn’t know, did you?’ she asked softly. ‘They ain’t told you?’
‘They said it was an accident,’ murmured Sophie. ‘They said he’d got lost on the cliff in a sea mist and fallen to his death.’
‘Well, that bit’s right,’ Mrs Slater said. ‘Certainly he fell to his death, but he knew them cliffs like the back of his hand, did young Jocelyn. He wouldn’t have fallen. No, it were suicide all right, but of course the family hushed that up. Well, they would, wouldn’t they? Think of the disgrace! He wouldn’t have been allowed to be buried in the churchyard, would he? Not if he’d killed hisself. Rector wouldn’t have stood for that.’
‘And he’s buried in the churchyard?’ Sophie’s voice was almost a whisper. She could not believe what she was hearing. Jocelyn had committed suicide? ‘But why? Why did he do it? And in such a dreadful way!’ She shuddered as she thought of his body flailing through the air on its death-dive to the rocks below. In the eternity of that fall, had Jocelyn regretted the leap he’d made? Had he, for one split second, changed his mind? Sophie felt sick at the thought.
‘Why?’ echoed Mrs Slater, pleased with the effect her news was having on Sophie. Nothing like a bit of drama to brighten her dull existence. ‘No one knows for sure, but the word was he got a local girl into trouble and thought it was the only way out.’ She shrugged and gave a gap-toothed grin. ‘Penvarrows wouldn’t have liked that scandal to come out.’
Sophie could think of nothing to say. Even if Jocelyn had disgraced himself, surely his family would have stood by him. Then she thought of her mother, and knew that they would not. Thomas Penvarrow would cast off any of his family whom he thought had disgraced them, and he was the only Penvarrow who mattered.
The door opened and Nicholas put his head into the room. ‘We should go,’ he said.
Still dazed, Sophie stood a little shakily. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said dully.
‘Now, don’t you forget,’ Nicholas was addressing himself to Mrs Slater, ‘you’re to mix one of those powders I’ve left you with a little water, night and morning, and drink it down. It should ease your chest and help your breathing.’
‘All right, Doctor,’ wheezed the old woman. ‘Miss Sophie and I’ve been having ever such a nice chat, haven’t we, Miss Sophie? You come and see me again. Any time you want. I like having visitors.’
‘Yes.’ Sophie had herself under control now and smiled at the old woman. ‘Yes, I will. Good afternoon, Mrs Slater.’ And with that she walked out of the tiny cottage into the chill of the winter afternoon. The sun had disappeared, and early twilight was creeping across the sky. It was definitely time to go home.
Nicholas followed her out and handed her up into the gig. She pulled AliceAnne against her and he tucked the blanket around them both.
On the way home he asked casually, ‘What did Mrs Slater have to say? You seemed to be getting on very well in there.’
Sophie, who had been reliving her conversation with the old woman, jerked back into the present. ‘Sorry, Nicholas, I was miles away. Oh, nothing in particula
r. She was just telling me a bit about the area, the mines and the fishing.’ Sophie tried to think of something else that they might have talked about; she was certainly not ready to share the intimate family history that had been revealed with anyone just yet, and certainly not with Nicholas, a newcomer to the area. If Jocelyn really had committed suicide, it had been hushed up at the time, and clearly that’s how it should stay.
It was a chilly drive back to Trescadinnick, and there was little more conversation between them. Sophie and AliceAnne stayed huddled together under the blanket trying to keep warm, and Sophie was never more pleased to see the lights of Trescadinnick gleaming out across the fields.
At the door Nicholas handed her down and then reached up to lift AliceAnne. The little girl shrank away from him, but he lifted her from the blanket and stood her down beside Sophie. Sophie had seen her reaction and sent her running indoors to get warm, then she turned to Nicholas and smiled. ‘Thank you for taking us out,’ she said.
‘It was a pleasure,’ Nicholas replied, returning her smile. ‘Give my regards to your grandfather, and remind him to take the powder I left him, every morning. I don’t think he always remembers.’
‘He may not,’ Sophie laughed. ‘But rest assured, Aunt Louisa does.’
As soon as she was inside, Sophie hurried upstairs to change her dress for dinner. When Hannah brought up her hot water, Sophie related the events of the afternoon.
‘I can’t believe it, Hannah,’ she said, still in a state of agitation. ‘She said Jocelyn had committed suicide. He didn’t slip off the edge of the cliff – he jumped!’
‘Now then, Miss Sophie,’ Hannah said soothingly, ‘don’t worrit yourself about that. Happened a long time ago. All forgotten now.’
‘But don’t you see, Hannah, it isn’t. They never mention Jocelyn, and his room is all shut up. It’s as if they’ve shut him up in there, in his room in disgrace! Even Aunt Matty won’t talk about him.’
‘Folks deal with death in different ways,’ pointed out Hannah as she handed Sophie a clean towel. The cobwebbed one had disappeared, and had she been less caught up in the mystery of Jocelyn, Sophie might have wondered how Hannah had explained the state of it when she’d taken it down to be washed. ‘Some folks need to talk about the person who’s died. Others feel too sad and mention of the name brings the sadness back again.’ She smiled at Sophie. ‘We’re all different, as God meant us to be.’
‘I suppose so.’ Sophie sighed, seating herself so that Hannah could brush the wind out of her hair. ‘But you know...’ she said, turning round so suddenly that Hannah nearly brushed her face.
‘Oh, Miss Sophie, will you sit still!’ admonished Hannah. ‘How can I make you presentable when you’re spinning about like that?’
‘Sorry, Hannah. But listen, the old woman in the cottage, Mrs Slater, she told me that I look just like Jocelyn. She knew him, and she said I have his colour hair and his green eyes. Why didn’t Matty tell me that? She didn’t, not even when I was asking about him. And,’ she said with sudden recollection, ‘Grandfather said I looked just like my grandmother. So Jocelyn must have looked like her too, don’t you think?’
‘What I think,’ replied Hannah, finally laying aside the brush, ‘is that you should get yourself downstairs, before you’re late for dinner and keep your grandfather waiting.’
Sophie gave a rueful smile. ‘All right, I know you’re right, but you can’t help wondering, can you?’
‘I can,’ answered Hannah stoutly, beginning to tidy the room. That made Sophie laugh, and she left the room, her laughter on her lips.
Moments later, she was back through the door. ‘Hannah...’
‘Yes, Miss Sophie?’
‘Is AliceAnne all right? I forgot to ask you. She didn’t get too cold on the way back?’
‘No, a little while by the kitchen fire and a hot drink’ll set her right.’
‘You will look after her, won’t you, Hannah?’
Hannah’s face softened. ‘’Course I will, Miss Sophie, she’s a dear little girl. Wouldn’t say “boo” to a goose, mind, but who can blame her, living in this household. She’ll be all right with me. I’ve promised her a game of Snap before she goes to bed.’ Hannah paused before adding, ‘She’d never played it before I taught her... can you believe that?’
‘Thank you, Hannah.’ Sophie gave her old nurse a quick hug and ran downstairs to the drawing room.
That night, as she came back upstairs to bed, Sophie again paused outside Jocelyn’s room. Had Jocelyn really committed suicide because he’d got some local girl into trouble?
Perhaps there was a girl, but surely he needn’t have killed himself. Had he loved her, or had it just been a youthful fling? Had the girl truly loved him? Mrs Slater had said that lots of local girls had lost their hearts to him. Was the girl concerned simply another in a long line of flirtations? And what had happened to her? Sophie knew she could not discuss these thoughts with Hannah. Hannah would have been horrified to think that Sophie might be interested in such happenings. She would probably, if she heard the story, side with old Thomas about keeping the room locked, the disgrace sealed safely inside.
Later, Sophie lay in bed, watching the steady flame of the candle. Tonight there was no draught to make it flicker; no movement of the curtains. The night outside was cold but peaceful, and the only sound Sophie could hear was the distant whisper of the sea. It must have been the direction of the wind that caused the draught, that or its unusual strength, Sophie decided, looking across at the wardrobe.
Only the wardrobe and a door between me and Jocelyn’s room, she thought. Had any secrets been locked away in there for twenty-five years, or was it simply the bedroom of a desperate young man, who had finally given way to his despair?
14
Next morning Sophie was up early and shared the breakfast table with AliceAnne and Charles.
‘Will you ride today, cousin?’ asked Charles, when she’d joined them at the table.
‘I’d love to,’ replied Sophie, adding, a little embarrassed, ‘but I’ve no riding boots. I’ll have to go to Truro first.’
‘So Aunt Matty told me,’ remarked Charles. ‘She suggested Anne’s might fit you. I’ve looked them out and given them to Hannah to clean.’
Sophie was astonished. ‘But...’ she stammered, ‘don’t you mind? I mean, if they were Anne’s...’
‘Not in the least,’ snapped Charles. ‘You can’t imagine, cousin, that I should feel sentimental about an old pair of boots. The only problem will be if they don’t fit you.’
When a hurried note from Matty had suggested that Sophie might be in need of a pair of riding boots, and that Anne’s might fit her, Charles had indeed wondered how he felt about it. But when he’d pulled them out of the wardrobe, where all Anne’s clothes still hung, he found he wasn’t thinking about Anne at all, but Sophie.
He’d been kept busy with estate business ever since she’d arrived, partly because there were always problems that needed sorting out, but partly by his own design. Even so, he caught Sophie slipping into his mind, settling quietly into a corner, and creeping to the forefront when he was at rest. Since she’d come to Trescadinnick the house seemed more alive than he ever remembered it. Music drifted on the air, a laugh echoed in the hallway, conversation filtered into the dining room. And AliceAnne? AliceAnne, though still a quiet little thing, seemed to have blossomed in Sophie’s company. Charles had watched her with Sophie, and realized what the difference was. Sophie spoke to AliceAnne as an equal, not as a child. She listened to what AliceAnne had to say, and held real conversations with her. He listened to her now, asking AliceAnne about her lessons that day, and whether she’d like to have another piano lesson later, and he heard liveliness and enthusiasm in the little girl’s replies, nothing like the one-word answers she would have given him had he asked such questions.
Had he ever asked such questions? he wondered. Did he ever really talk to AliceAnne about the things that might be important to
her, or did he simply fire questions at her and expect her to... what? Love him? He loved her, of course he did; she was his daughter. But did she love him, or was she simply afraid of him? Had he earned her love, or had he left that to the others who had the day-to-day contact with her?
Sophie had been right, he thought with a stab of guilt as he listened to their chatter. AliceAnne needed children to play with or, if not other children, at least adults who took a real interest in her, rather than simply supplying her physical needs and then leaving her alone, considering their duty discharged.
‘Perhaps I could have a piano lesson too,’ he offered. His remark was greeted with a shriek of laughter from AliceAnne, something which would have been unthinkable only a few days ago when the child was expected to eat her meals in silence.
‘You, Papa?’ she cried. Then suddenly realizing the enormity of laughing at her father, she turned scarlet and covering her mouth with her hand, muttered, ‘Sorry, Papa.’
But Sophie had laughed too, and Charles found himself grinning at them both. ‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘Men play the piano.’
‘Indeed they do, cousin,’ Sophie conceded. ‘But while they are learning, they have to practise every day.’
‘And you’ll have to ride every day,’ he stated firmly. He stood up. ‘I’ll be in the stable yard in half an hour,’ he said.
Half an hour later Sophie came downstairs dressed in her mother’s riding habit, packed at Matty’s suggestion the last minute before they left London. It was a little large round the waist, and the bodice not as close-fitting as it was designed to be, but, nevertheless, when she’d looked at herself in the mirror she had been pleased with what she saw. The shape of the jacket showed her waist to advantage, and she had gathered the long, sweeping skirt into her hand, afraid that she might actually trip over it. Anne’s boots were a reasonable fit; Hannah had polished them to a mirror shine and once she was wearing them, Sophie managed to put out of her mind the last pair of feet that had been thrust into them. Giving Hannah a quick hug, she ran downstairs to find Matty’s mare.
Miss Mary’s Daughter Page 15
