The Invention of Sophie Carter

by Samantha Hastings

  Sophie glanced briefly at Ethan, who was sitting beside her. He gave her an encouraging smile. “I had a governess.”

  Nearly eight years ago, but she didn’t have to tell Mr. Packer that.

  “Stitching and playing the pianoforte are hardly qualifications for an apprenticeship to a mechanical engineer and one of the foremost inventors in London,” he scoffed.

  “Self-proclaimed,” Ethan whispered under his breath, but loud enough that Sophie heard it.

  She cleared her throat to cover her smile. “I’m also proficient in algebra and geometry. I read and write well, and I can sketch very accurately.”

  Mr. Packer gave her a condescending smile. “Well, should I ever wish for a sketch, I shall send for you, Miss Carter,” he said. “But I could not in good conscience allow you to work alongside my other apprentices. They are not only much younger than you, but they are also better qualified and have earned their positions through their own merits and not through their … connections.”

  He looked directly at Ethan before turning back to Sophie.

  “And I suppose all your other apprentices are men,” she said sharply.

  “But of course,” Mr. Packer said, twirling his mustache again. “You’d best stick to your sketches and your writing, Miss Carter, and leave the masculine subjects of mechanics and technological innovations to whom they rightfully belong.”

  Sophie was beyond furious. She wanted to rip that ridiculous mustache off his face, but instead, she stood up. “Thank you for the interview, Mr. Packer.”

  He nodded benignly at her, seemingly oblivious that his words and manners were insulting. Sophie stuffed her hands into the pockets of her skirt, fighting the urge to pull at his mustache. She looked at Ethan, who leisurely got to his feet and put on his hat.

  “Yes, Mr. Packer,” he said. “Thank you for your time. It has been a most illuminating discussion.”

  Mr. Packer smiled and held out his hand. “Then you will invest in our shop, Mr. Miller?”

  Ethan didn’t take the outstretched hand, instead shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, sir. It seems you’re too traditional in your outlook. Your ideas are too steeped in the past for my taste. I’m only interested in investing my capital in movers and shakers—innovators, shapers of the future. Good day to you.”

  Sophie watched this exchange with her mouth open in surprise. Mr. Packer blinked and blinked as if he didn’t trust his eyes or his ears. Ethan then took her elbow and guided her out of the shop and onto the loud, bustling London street. His carriage was only a few steps away and he helped her inside before tossing a penny to the little street sweeper. He hopped in the carriage beside her and sighed. “That could have gone better.”

  “I thought you were marvelous,” Sophie said, attempting a weak smile. “I only wish I could have ripped the curly mustache off his face.”

  “I was thinking more of punching his long nose.”

  “Both would have felt satisfactory, I think.”

  “Oh, Sophie, I’m so sorry,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “He came highly recommended to my grandfather.”

  Sophie indulged herself in a nice, long sigh. “I’m afraid that most men—and unfortunately even most women—in London, if not all of England, would agree with Mr. Packer.”

  “He’s a narrow-minded fool.”

  “Most men are.”

  Ethan looked momentarily affronted and then, to Sophie’s relief, laughed loudly. “I hope you don’t number me among them.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “I wouldn’t be sitting next to you in this carriage if I did.”

  “I’ll keep inquiring after positions for you,” he said. “But in the interim, would you consider going to the theater with me … as a friend?”

  Her first instinct was to say yes—spending more time with Ethan would be delightful. But she didn’t want to encourage him because even though she liked him so much, she wasn’t ready for a courtship. She might never be. And there was danger in becoming too attached. Ethan would always have a place in the highest society—the kind that Aunt Bentley occupied—but she and Mariah would probably end this season in much different circumstances. Hopefully they would have paying positions and a small place of their own. But certainly not a fancy London mansion like Lord Bentley’s home or Ethan’s.

  He must have sensed her hesitation. “I thought an aspiring inventor like yourself would like to study the stage lights and other engineering and technological advances used in a practical setting.”

  “So, you’re saying that going to the theater is like studying engineering?”

  “Precisely,” he said with a grin.

  Despite her gloomy thoughts, Sophie couldn’t repress a smile. “I suppose I could study one night next week.”

  “Excellent,” Ethan said. “I’ll get some friends to make up a party and I’ll ask your aunt for her permission to escort you.”

  “Oh yes, I suppose you’d better ask her.”

  Ethan took her hand to help her out of the carriage and Sophie felt the familiar thrill of his touch.

  This simply will not do.

  She knew better than to get attached to a person who could leave her at any time. He walked her to the front door and lifted the knocker. Mr. Taylor, ever the disapproving butler, let them in and she caught a glimpse of a blue dress darting madly into the library.

  Both she and Mariah were “out” at the same time.

  “Oh bother,” she cursed underneath her breath.

  Ethan turned and looked at her solicitously. “Is everything all right, Sophie?”

  She touched his arm. A bad idea, because his warmth was a distraction to her already harried mind. She released it. “I, uh, I was just realizing that I needed to talk to my aunt first, before you do. So, um, I’ll see you soon.”

  Sophie opened the door and held it for Ethan, surprising both him and the butler. Ethan walked to the door but before walking through the threshold, asked, “Have I offended you in some way?”

  “No, no,” Sophie said, starting to close the door, blocking his view of the inside of the house. She leaned through the small gap of the partially opened door and whispered, “My aunt doesn’t know about the apprenticeship interview this morning. I’m hoping to avoid a confrontation so that she’ll consent for me to go to the theater with you.”

  Ethan beamed at her, and she wished her body didn’t react with the usual butterflies in her belly. He touched his hat. “Then, good day, Sophie. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

  “Thursday,” she said, shutting the door.

  Mr. Taylor stood behind her, looking at her suspiciously. The butterflies in her stomach fell with a thud—Mariah was still in the library wearing a light blue dress. Sophie’s fists clenched the skirt of her most inconveniently dark green dress. Somehow they needed to return to their bedroom without the butler seeing them both.

  “Mr. Taylor, would you ask Mrs. Kimball to have tea sent to my room?” Sophie asked in an authoritative voice.

  He polished one of the gold buttons on his pristine black coat with a gloved finger. “I am not an errand boy, girl. And certainly not for the likes of you.”

  “Did Miss Carter ask you to do something, Mr. Taylor?” Charles asked in a soft voice from the hall. Both she and the butler turned to see Charles coming toward them wearing his familiar frown.

  “Lord Bentley,” Mr. Taylor said, bowing obsequiously.

  Charles raised his eyebrows at the butler, as if unimpressed by his display. For once, Sophie did not mind Charles’s sardonic manners.

  “I believe that I asked you a question, Mr. Taylor.”

  The butler fiddled with the same button, but without his previous swagger. “It’s not proper for the young lady to ask me to relay messages to the housekeeper.”

  Charles raised his eyebrows a fraction, but said in the same soft voice, “She is a guest in my house, and if you value your position, you’ll do as she asks.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Mr. Tayl
or said, and bowed so low that she thought his white wig might fall off his head. He then turned on his heel and walked down the hall past the library to the kitchen.

  She’d successfully gotten rid of the butler, but now she had to get rid of Charles. “Thank you.”

  “I hope my other servants are treating you well.”

  “Yes, they are. Adell in particular has been very helpful.”

  “I purchased a new book today that I thought you might enjoy. There are several scenes in your hometown, Lyme Regis. It’s called Persuasion by Jane Austen. And I know how much you enjoy reading books written by ladies,” he said in a pleasant voice. He actually smiled at her—Sophie’s jaw nearly dropped in surprise. His entire countenance seemed to change when he smiled. He looked almost handsome; it was unsettling. “I left it in the library. Shall we go and get it?”

  She blinked. Mariah was already in the library. “I would like that very much, but perhaps you can show it to me later? I’m a little tired. And … and my aunt wanted to speak to you about something important, she said, something very important.”

  “Oh … all right then,” he said, shaking his head. His face returned to its usual cold hauteur. “The book is not important. I’ll see what Sophronia wants.”

  Behind him Sophie saw Mariah step out of the library. Instinctively, she grabbed Charles’s arm to stop him from turning around and seeing her sister. Mariah put her hands over her mouth.

  “Sophie?” Charles asked, seemingly confused by her touch and nearness.

  She leaned toward him and brushed her lips against his cold cheek, then mouthed to Mariah over his shoulder, “Run!”

  Whether or not Mariah could read Sophie’s lips, she dashed to the back of the house toward the servants’ staircase. Only once she was out of sight did Sophie release her hold on Charles’s arm. “Thank you so much for the book, Charles.” Sophie gave him a forced smile and a brief nod, before nearly running to the grand staircase. Her heart was racing by the time she arrived at her bedroom door—Mariah was at the opposite end of the hall, standing at the top of the servants’ staircase.

  “Quickly!” Sophie hissed and flung open the door.

  Mariah lifted her skirts and ran, ducking into the room just as Adell appeared on the stairs. Sophie closed the door to her room and waited in the hall for the young maid.

  “I’ve got the tea you requested, Miss Carter.”

  Sophie held out her hands and took the tray. “Thank you.”

  Adell looked at Sophie as if she were behaving oddly. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  “That will be everything, thank you.”

  Sophie waited for Adell to walk back down the hall before balancing the tray on one arm and opening the door. Mariah was nowhere to be seen. She set down the tea tray on a table and then opened the doors of the wardrobe, where Mariah was cowering.

  “That was close!” Sophie said, taking her sister by the hands and pulling her out of the closet.

  “Too close,” Mariah said, shaking her head. “And you kissed Charles.”

  “On the cheek,” Sophie said with a shudder. “And don’t think I enjoyed it. What else was I supposed to do to keep him from turning around and seeing you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, clenching her teeth.

  Sophie smiled at Mariah’s ridiculous jealousy. “He bought you a new book—Persuasion. Set in Lyme Regis of all places.”

  “He did?” Mariah said, her expression softening. “How did your interview go?”

  “It was all a sham. Mr. Packer had no intention of taking me on as an apprentice. He only wanted the Millers to invest in his shop.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Sophie said, and spun her sister around in a circle. “Ethan is taking me to the theater on Thursday to see the mechanics of a stage play.”

  She was disappointed to see Mariah’s mouth wobble in a pathetic attempt at a smile. “How pleasant,” Mariah said in a funerary tone. “Who else will be in the party?”

  “Ethan said he would bring some friends.” Sophie waved these unknown persons away with her hand. “What’s wrong, Mariah? You’re acting as if someone died. I barely brushed my lips across his cheek. You have no cause to be angry with me; I don’t even like Charles.”

  Mariah shook her head. “It’s not about the kiss.”

  Sophie took her sister by the shoulders. “We’re sisters. I know something is wrong.”

  She wouldn’t look Sophie in the eye. “I’m merely thinking about our future. We were almost caught today. What if we had been caught? What would we do? Where would we go?”

  “Wherever it is, we’ll be together,” Sophie said, hugging her sister tightly. “We’ll always be together. I have you and you have me. We don’t need anyone else.”

  Mariah’s eyes began to water. “I don’t want to go back to the Ellises’.”

  “We won’t. I promise.” Sophie released her and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to her sister.

  Mariah wiped her eyes and sniffed. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re not going to cry,” Sophie said softly. “I’m going to find an apprenticeship with someone who is not as narrow-minded as Mr. Packer, and you’re going to be a famous painter. Then you can sell your paintings for enormous sums and support us both in the style we have become accustomed to. Everything will be grand. Trust me.”

  TWELVE

  MARIAH CAREFULLY PAINTED AUNT BENTLEY’S face onto the small oval cameo, adding a small stroke to one of her eyes to capture its sharpness.

  “Mr. Ruskin is certainly a valuable acquaintance,” Aunt Bentley said. “I’ve inquired about him, and he is quite a respected lecturer and author. In fact, I’ve purchased one of his books, Modern Painters. It’s in the library if you wish to borrow it.”

  Mariah looked up. “I would like to borrow it very much. Thank you.”

  She paused when she heard the sound of the door to the sitting room opening.

  “Charles, how fortunate you’re home,” Aunt Bentley said. “I’m about to make a call on Mrs. Penderton-Simpson and her daughter. Would you care to accompany me?”

  Mariah glanced up at Charles briefly and then stared resolutely back at her painting.

  “I’m afraid I will be unable to, Sophronia,” he said, holding up a stack of letters. “I have some business correspondence to attend to.”

  “Very well,” Aunt Bentley said. “But before you go, you must look at Sophie’s miniature of me. I think it is very like, but you must be the judge.”

  Charles stood over Mariah’s shoulder, and his proximity made her heart beat faster.

  “Very like,” he said. “You’ve caught Sophronia’s expression as well as her features.”

  She mumbled a thanks but would not look Charles in the eye. He moved to sit by Aunt Bentley and asked her about their social engagements for the week. Mariah put the miniature down and picked up her letter from Mr. Ruskin. She turned it over and hastily began to sketch Charles’s face. The hard line of his jaw, the aquiline angle of his nose, the long sideburns and the definitive cheekbones, and the fathomless depth of his green eyes—more mysterious than any ocean. She longed to trace every curve and line of his face with her fingertips.

  Mariah was still staring at Charles when his eyes focused on her. She glanced down at her sketch and didn’t look up again until he took his leave. Aunt Bentley left the room shortly after him, and Mariah cleaned up her paints. Carefully placing the sketch of Charles beneath her stack of supplies, she walked upstairs. Sophie was modeling next door, so Mariah had the bedroom all to herself.

  She sat down on the heavenly soft bed, relieved to be alone. She was about to pick up Jane Austen’s book when she heard a slight knock on the door.

  “Yes?”

  The door opened and Mariah expected to see Adell, not Charles. She quickly stood up and curtsied.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought it was a servant. I didn’t realize it was you.”<
br />
  Charles flushed. “I know it is rather untoward to enter your room, but I was hoping that you would accompany me to visit the National Gallery this afternoon.”

  “I-I would like that v-very much,” Mariah stammered.

  “Great. Good. Fine,” Charles said tightly. He stepped back through the doorframe. “Shall we leave in a quarter of an hour?”

  “Yes.”

  Mariah barely had time to freshen up and put on her shawl and hat before meeting Charles in the grand entry.

  “I’m afraid that Sophronia has already taken the carriage,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind taking a hansom cab?”

  “I wouldn’t mind if we had to walk.”

  Charles opened the door. “I would.”

  They walked down Hyde Street before Charles hailed a hansom cab and directed the driver to take them to the National Gallery. Mariah watched out the open carriage as they passed by buildings and people. She would never cease to be amazed by the sheer number of inhabitants in the large city. Turning back toward Charles, she gave him a guilty smile.

  “I didn’t mean to ignore you,” she said. “It’s still so new and fascinating to be in London.”

  Charles nodded. “You would like New York, I think. It’s much more colorful and varied than London.”

  “How so?” Mariah asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s so different that it’s hard to explain.”

  “Try.”

  He gave her a rare smile. “It’s such a hodgepodge of architecture and peoples from all over the world. Every day I saw something new or different. Once, there was even a man with a monkey who was preforming tricks in the street.”

  “I’ve never even seen a monkey!”

  “They’re curious creatures, to be sure,” Charles said. “Clever, too.”

  “How I should like to see a monkey,” Mariah said. She paused before asking her next question. “What was your favorite part of living in New York?”

  “The food. It’s like nothing we eat here.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Hot.”

  “Hot?”