The Invention of Sophie Carter

by Samantha Hastings

  At least a quarter of an hour later, an older woman with graying brown hair tucked underneath a cap tied at her chin came down the hall.

  “Miss Carter, I presume?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mariah said, bobbing a curtsy.

  “I am Mrs. Kimball, the housekeeper,” the older woman said. “I cannot allow you to see your aunt thus attired. Have you another dress?”

  Mariah felt a blush creep up her neck. She was already wearing her best dress of gray cotton. She opened her bag to show her faded blue work dress.

  Mrs. Kimball crinkled her nose. “No. Come with me. You will need to bathe before you meet your aunt. And I will see if Miss Golden will lend you some clothes.”

  “Who?” Mariah asked without thinking.

  Mrs. Kimball turned back to look at Mariah. “She is your aunt’s lady’s maid,” she said imperiously. “It is the privilege of a lady’s maid to receive her mistress’s old clothes. We must find something suitable for you to wear before your aunt takes you shopping.”

  Mariah followed Mrs. Kimball up a flight of stairs to a spacious room with a large four-poster canopy bed, a wardrobe, a chair, and a table with a mirror. The furnishings were a sumptuous peacock blue, and the floor was carpeted in a lovely floral pattern.

  “This will be your room,” Mrs. Kimball said, then pointed to a side table. “You may leave your things here.”

  Mariah set down her bag, surreptitiously taking out Sophie’s pocket watch and hanging it on the handle of the window. She watched the light reflect off the golden piece and couldn’t believe their luck; it would make a perfect beacon for Sophie to find. Their new room was bright, airy, and large—most unlike their shared attic at the Ellises’ or the airless, cramped room at the boardinghouse.

  “Follow me,” Mrs. Kimball demanded.

  Mariah trailed behind her to the end of the hall, where Mrs. Kimball opened the last door. It was a room dedicated to bathing and hygiene. There was a water closet in one corner—how Sophie would love that! In the other corner, there was a large metal tub with several metal pipes sticking out of the wall and a chain cord. There was also a table with a sink. Mariah had heard of such things, but she had never actually seen them. Back at the Ellises’, they had boiled kettle after kettle of water to fill the tin bathtub in the kitchen, and then everyone in the family would use the same water. It was such a laborious process that they only bathed on Sundays.

  “You will be expected to bathe regularly,” Mrs. Kimball said. “Here is your own soap, a towel, and a robe. I will see what clothes I can find. You do remember where your room is?”

  Mariah was nettled by her patronizing tone, but said civilly, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

  She waited until the door was closed behind Mrs. Kimball before she quickly undressed. She pressed the bar of soap to her nose, breathing in the lovely scent of lavender. It smelled nothing like the soap she used to help Mrs. Ellis make from discarded animal fat.

  Mariah put one foot into the metal tub and then the other. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was supposed to do, but she had been too proud to admit that to the uppity housekeeper. For a moment she stood shivering and rubbing her hands over her arms. Then she saw a metal chain hanging above her and pulled it—and nearly screamed in surprise when water was dumped all over her.

  The water was not cold—but not particularly warm either—on her back. Mariah sat down and began using the bar of soap to painstakingly wash every inch of her body and strand of her hair. She pulled the chain again to rinse off.

  Mariah stood up to get out of the tub, blindly reaching for the towel to dry her face. When she glanced out the window, she nearly slipped out of the tub: Sophie had a rope around her waist and was climbing up the exterior of the house toward the bedroom window. A window that Mariah, in her hurry, hadn’t unlocked.

  “Good golly! What is she doing?”

  Mariah didn’t bother drying herself further, but instead threw on the robe and ran back to the bedroom.

  Her heart fell to her feet when she opened the door. Sophie was holding on to a rope with one hand and was trying to pry the window open with the other. Mariah gasped, running to unlock the window. She took the pocket watch off the latch and opened the window just as Sophie dropped the metal tool with which she’d been attempting to pick the window lock. Mariah leaned forward to see it clink against the house once before landing in a bush.

  “Come in quickly,” Mariah said, suddenly breathless. “Before you fall.”

  Sophie pulled herself higher on the rope and stuck one foot through the window, and Mariah grabbed it with both hands. Sophie’s other foot kicked out, nearly hitting her sister on the nose. Mariah was pulling her through when she heard a knock at her door.

  “One moment please,” Mariah called.

  “I’m going to swing the rest of me inside now,” Sophie said, leaving Mariah only enough time to scoot back before Sophie’s whole body slid through the window. Her face was flushed red, but besides that, Sophie looked happier than Mariah had seen her in years.

  “Quick,” Mariah said, taking her hand. “Hide!”

  “I’ve lost my favorite reaming tool. I’m not going to lose my rope, too,” Sophie said, reaching through the open window to yank down the rope of her makeshift pulley.

  Mariah heard the doorknob turn and she grabbed her sister by the waist, pulling her from the window and hauling her toward the wardrobe. “Get in!”

  Sophie opened the doors to the wardrobe and climbed in, reeling up her rope like a fishing line. Mariah closed the doors behind her as Mrs. Kimball came into the room, her arms full of clothes. She was followed by a young woman with brown hair and the most freckles Mariah had ever seen on one person; she wore a maid’s uniform and carried a meal tray. Mrs. Kimball pointed to the side table, and the maid placed the tray there.

  Mrs. Kimball then walked toward the wardrobe with the dresses. “Miss Golden no longer has any use for these. You may wear them until you are suitably attired. Adell will help you dress when your hair is dry.”

  Mariah stepped between Mrs. Kimball and the wardrobe and took the clothes from the woman’s hands. “Thank you, but I can dress myself.”

  Mrs. Kimball gave her another disdainful glance before leaving the room without another word. Adell followed behind the housekeeper and gave Mariah a small smile as she closed the door.

  Sophie pushed open the doors of the wardrobe, grinning. She skipped over to where Mariah was standing. “That was close.”

  They both fell back on the peacock-blue bed in silent laughter and, for Mariah, unmitigated relief.

  “Why are you all wet?” Sophie asked, leaning her head on her arm.

  “The housekeeper insisted I take a bath before Lady Bentley saw me.”

  Sophie’s eyes lit up. “They have indoor plumbing in this house?”

  “Yes!” Mariah said. “You’ll love it. There’s a water closet and a bathtub with a shower. All you have to do is pull the lever and the water sprinkles all over you.”

  “Is the water hot?”

  “No,” Mariah replied, “but you’ll love the soap.”

  Sophie sat up. “Well, I’d better go take a bath then.”

  “I’m afraid I left the towel and the soap on the floor,” Mariah said. She hopped off the bed and took off the damp robe, handing it to her sister. “And I’m sorry everything is already wet.”

  “I’m more interested in the pipes than anything else.”

  Mariah slipped on her spare shift, then stepped to the door and cracked it open, looking both ways before signaling Sophie to follow her. She opened the door to the bathing room for her sister. “Don’t dawdle. I would hate for us to be sent home before we get to sleep in that magnificent bed.”

  Sophie gave Mariah’s arm a light squeeze. “I’ll be back in our room before you know it.”

  Mariah returned to the room and couldn’t resist lying down on the bed again—she hadn’t slept in a proper bed in eight years and it f
elt marvelous.

  After a short time, the doorknob turned and Mariah’s breath caught, but it was just Sophie wearing the wet robe and holding her old dress crumpled up in her hands. She came and sat on the bed and they shared the breakfast from the tray Adell had brought. There was a pot of hot chocolate, several muffins, and some bread. Even shared, it was more food than either sister had ever eaten for breakfast at the Ellises’.

  “We’ll get quite fat eating here,” Sophie said.

  “I think I’d like that very much,” Mariah said.

  “Although, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to fit through the window if I get too much larger.”

  Mariah grabbed Sophie’s hand. “You must promise me that you’ll never do that again. I nearly had heart failure watching you hang out the window. What if you’d fallen?”

  “I don’t think I would have died—it’s not high enough,” Sophie said, waving her hand. “But you’re right. Using a rope pulley is far too noticeable for every day. I was lucky that the bedroom window overlooked the back garden and alleyway … Still, finding a way out presents an interesting challenge.”

  “You’ll be careful?” Mariah asked, squeezing Sophie’s hand one more time.

  “I’ll be the very soul of caution,” she replied with a smile. “I don’t recall ever tasting such delicious food. I’d hate to miss out on it.”

  Mariah did recall tasting it at the Trentons’ home, but Sophie hated any mention of their former foster parents.

  From the pile of clothes Mrs. Kimball had brought, Mariah selected a lovely frock of the palest blue with puffed sleeves that tightened at the wrists. Sophie helped her put on a large petticoat and buttoned the back of her dress. It was a little too large, but so fine that Mariah didn’t mind how it fit. The frock made her feel like a real lady.

  Unsurprisingly, Sophie selected the plainest dress—a simple green frock with a high collar. She then twisted her mostly dry hair into a loose bun at the back of her neck.

  “Would you like me to style your hair before you meet our aunt?” Sophie asked.

  “Please,” Mariah said, touching her unruly red curls.

  She sat in a chair as Sophie carefully pinned each of her curls in just the right place.

  “Now what do we do?” Mariah asked.

  “I suppose you ought to go down and meet our aunt,” Sophie said as she picked up her plain straw bonnet and tied the ribbon at her neck. “And I need to find a less conspicuous way out of the room, or I’ll be a permanent resident of the wardrobe.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “On an adventure,” Sophie said, tucking away her pocket watch. “Please don’t latch your window, just in case.”

  “Our window,” Mariah said.

  “Yes, ours,” Sophie agreed.

  Mariah opened the door and peered down the hallway—no one was in sight. Sophie pointed for Mariah to go toward the grand staircase, and she went in the direction of the servants’ staircase. Mariah walked down the hall a few steps and turned around; there was no sign of her sister. With equal parts relief and worry, she continued to walk toward the staircase and then down it. She closed her eyes and pretended she was wearing a fancy ball gown and was making a grand entrance to a party all her own. Her gentle fantasy was broken by a harsh voice.

  “Who the devil are you?”

  Mariah’s eyes popped open, and she saw a tall young gentleman in a long overcoat and beaver hat at the bottom of the stairs. He had dark green eyes and a strong chin, and his face was quite tanned. His hands were gloved, and his clothes were tailored. He most certainly was not a servant and he didn’t seem pleased to see her.

  “I’m Ma—Miss Sophie Carter. Lady Bentley’s niece who has come to stay with her for the season,” Mariah said confidently, pretending to be her sister in more ways than just name. Sophie would not have been intimidated by Prince Albert himself.

  “I was not aware Sophronia had any living relatives,” he said coldly.

  “Fortunately for her, she has two nieces,” Mariah said.

  She saw a reluctant smile play on his lips.

  “Are they both staying in my house?”

  “Your house?” Mariah blurted out in surprise.

  “I inherited this house and my title from Sophronia’s late husband,” the brusque young man explained. “I’ve been her ward since the age of twelve.”

  “Then you’re Lord Bentley now?”

  He gave her an exaggerated bow. She curtsied back, unsure whether he was mocking her. At least she wasn’t wearing her old work dress.

  “Where’s the other one?” he asked.

  “Other what?”

  “Niece.”

  “Oh, only one was invited,” Mariah said.

  “For what?” he demanded.

  Mariah blushed and managed to stammer, “I believe m-my aunt thinks that she might help me find a … a suitable husband.”

  “And no doubt that will solve all your problems,” he replied sardonically.

  “No,” Mariah said, nettled. “But if I do, I’ll at last have a home for myself and my sister where we’ll be treated as equals and not as unwanted dependents or unpaid servants.”

  He took off his hat and she saw his face more clearly. He looked younger than she’d originally supposed, not much older than herself. But there were lines around his mouth and eyes, and it looked as if he had recently been unwell. His tanned skin had an unhealthy grayish tinge to it.

  “Forgive me, Miss Carter,” he said in a kinder tone. “I’ve been traveling for many weeks and didn’t expect a stranger in my home.”

  “I arrived only this morning,” Mariah said. “I haven’t even seen my aunt yet. Or maybe I should call her Lady Bentley … I’m not sure.”

  A voice from above them said, “Charles, are you all right? What are you doing here? I thought you were in America for the rest of the year.”

  Mariah looked up and saw a woman who didn’t look at all like she had imagined. Lady Bentley had brown eyes and hair, and a sharp, distinguished face. She was about the same height as Mariah, but she seemed larger, because she wore a voluminous gown of striped purple. Lady Bentley slowly stepped down each stair until she stood in the grand foyer with Mariah and the surly young man she’d called Charles. Her keen eyes scrutinized them, from each strand of hair to the scuffs on Mariah’s boots.

  Mariah curtsied slowly.

  “Sophronia, may I present your niece, Miss Sophie Carter?” Charles said.

  “You have the beauty of my sister, though little good it did her.” Lady Bentley sniffed. “Sophie, you may go.”

  Mariah looked right and left. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”

  She saw Charles’s lips twitch again. “Miss Carter, if you go left, you’ll find a comfortable sitting room where you can wait until Sophronia is ready for you.”

  Mariah bobbed another curtsy and opened the door to a bright room decorated in yellow. She closed the door behind her, but she could still hear their voices. She ought to have sat down on the lovely cream-colored settee, but instead she stood by the door and listened.

  “Charles, you look unwell … Have you been sick?”

  “I contracted yellow fever and even though I recovered after a fortnight, my doctor thought it best that I come back to England for a period of convalescence,” he said. “Mr. Merritt will take over the business in New York and I will look after my interests here.”

  “Don’t work yourself too hard, Charles,” she said. “I will, of course, send my niece back to her father’s friend. It is now most inconvenient to have her staying in the house during your convalescence.”

  Mariah sunk down on the settee, trying hard not to cry.

  “I don’t see why she needs to go,” Charles said. “There are plenty of rooms in the house, and she seems so thin that I don’t think she’ll eat us out of house and home.”

  “I’m not sure it is very wise for her to stay here with an unrelated bachelor in the house.�
�

  “Don’t worry, Sophronia,” he said in his dry voice. “I have no intention of falling in love with her.”

  “If you are sure that you do not mind, I suppose she can stay,” Lady Bentley said heavily. “Although, I only offered out of Christian charity. I’m sorry that it is a great inconvenience to you.”

  Mariah covered her face with her hands. Maybe Sophie was right: She didn’t need to find a husband, she needed to find some sort of employment—some way to take care of herself without the help of anybody. Certainly not him.

  Footsteps approached. Mariah quickly sat up and placed her hands on her lap, one over the other.

  The disapproving butler, Mr. Taylor, opened the door and Lady Bentley walked into the room. Mariah stood up and curtsied to her. Lady Bentley sat down on a chair and motioned for Mariah to sit back down on the settee.

  “To be frank, Sophie, I am not pleased that Charles—Lord Bentley—has arrived home at this time,” she said. “You must promise me that you will not bother him at all during your stay here while he is recovering. To engage his interest would be a spiteful way to repay both his and my kindness.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mariah said.

  Lady Bentley smiled coldly. “You may call me Aunt Bentley.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Bentley.”

  “I will arrange for us to go shopping in the next day or so, but for now you can make yourself useful by helping me with my correspondence,” Aunt Bentley said. “That is, if you are literate? But I suppose you must be since you wrote me a letter.”

  “Yes, I can write copperplate hand and I would be happy to be of service to you in any way.”

  She would do anything to be allowed to stay.

  THREE

  SOPHIE’S FIRST STOP, once she escaped the house through the servants’ entrance, was to retrieve her reaming tool from the bush. The prickly bush proved to be a formidable adversary, scratching her arm through her dress and dirtying her new gloves. If she ever encountered it again, it would be with a sharp pair of shears.

  As she walked down Hyde Street, Sophie spotted a bit of wire in the gutter—always useful in experiments. She pocketed it, then looked both ways before carefully crossing the cobblestone road, avoiding both horse and dog droppings. She hadn’t worn so very fine a dress since the Tren— for a long time, and she didn’t want to spoil it.