He nodded but didn’t say a word.
* * *
Mariah walked down the steps of her aunt’s house, twenty feet to the next house, and back up the steps, Pierce faithfully trailing behind her.
The Watergates’ butler answered their door and ushered Mariah into the sitting room. She was about to sit on the couch when Mrs. Spooner burst in.
“My dear, which one are you?”
Mariah laughed, something she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of an hour ago. “Mariah Carter, ma’am.”
Mrs. Spooner took both of Mariah’s hands and squeezed them. “Sit down, dear girl, I see that you’re making a formal call. With a footman, too! How fancy of you.”
Mariah sat next to Mrs. Spooner and smiled. “I’m afraid that it’s not so much a formal call as a formal farewell. Mrs. Miller has kindly invited both Sophie and me to stay with her.”
“I’ll miss my attic guests,” Mrs. Spooner said with a sigh. “I daresay the only ones I’ll find now will be mice.”
“I’ll miss you, too. Both of you,” Mariah said. “I’ve learned so much from your husband about painting, and so much from you about kindness.”
“Are you going to be staying with Mrs. Miller indefinitely?”
“For a little while; Sophie is looking for an apprenticeship with an inventor and I’m hoping to continue pursuing my art education and find my own employment. I have a small legacy that will keep me.”
“I’m glad that you’re not abandoning your art. Ah!” Mrs. Spooner said, tapping a finger against the side of her nose. “I have some news for you. The Royal Academy of Arts will debut Sir Thomas’s Joan of Arc, and they’ve agreed to display your painting in their gallery as well.”
“My painting?!”
“I entitled it Sisters,” Mrs. Spooner said. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve a knack for naming things, you know.”
“Mind?” Mariah cried, wiping happy tears from her eyes. “I’m now doubly indebted to you.”
“Off with you,” Mrs. Spooner said with a warm smile. “Say farewell to your uppity aunt and go stay with the Millers. I’ll see that Sir Thomas sends you an invitation to the debut.”
Mariah gave Mrs. Spooner one last hug, then returned to her aunt’s house. She took off her hat and quickly climbed the stairs. When she opened the door to her room, she saw the housekeeper, Mrs. Kimball, and Adell standing by a trunk. Mrs. Kimball gave her a curt nod and Adell bobbed a curtsy.
“We’re all done packing your things, Miss Carter,” Mrs. Kimball said. “Come, Adell.”
With another nod, Mrs. Kimball left the room, Adell trailing behind her. Mariah lay down on the bed. She could feel fresh tears rising but willed them not to fall.
It was time to go.
This house was not her home—it never had been. Charles didn’t love her, and she didn’t need to be loved by him. She had herself, she had her sister, and she didn’t need anyone else. Mariah fell into a fitful sleep and was awakened by a smart rap on her door.
“Come in.”
Adell gently pushed open the door. “Lady Bentley would like you in the front sitting room, miss.”
“Thank you, Adell,” Mariah said. “I’ll come immediately.”
She straightened her red curls, tucking one strand of hair behind her ear. Then she sighed and walked the familiar path down the hall to the grand staircase and onward to the sitting room. She could hear the squeak of the front door opening—Sophie was here.
Her aunt was sitting on a sofa with a book in her hand—which she was not reading. Charles was still standing by the window, his face shadowed by the light. His complexion almost looked gray, the same color it had been when he was sick.
“Sit, Sophie, and look employed,” Aunt Bentley said brusquely. “We don’t want the Millers to assume we waited all day for their arrival.”
Which, of course, they had. Mariah sat down in a chair, just as the butler opened the door to the sitting room.
“Mr. Miller and Mrs. Miller,” Mr. Taylor said, “and Miss Carter.”
Mariah sighed in relief, but still felt her color mounting. She stood and shook hands with Mrs. Miller, who smiled at her, then looked over her shoulder to see Sophie and Mr. Miller. Ethan stepped toward her and bowed over her hand. Sophie threw her arms around Mariah and squeezed her tightly. Mariah pulled back and saw that Sophie was glowing with happiness in a borrowed gown.
“Miss Mariah Carter, allow me to introduce you to your aunt, Lady Bentley,” Mrs. Miller said with a knowing smile.
Sophie smiled and curtsied to Aunt Bentley, whose eyes were as large as coins.
“My goodness, child,” she said. “I had no idea you were so exactly the same.”
“We may look alike, Aunt Bentley, but we are not at all the same,” Sophie said with a wink at Mariah.
“Miss Carter,” Ethan said, taking Sophie by the elbow and turning her toward Charles, “may I introduce you to my cousin, Lord Bentley.”
Sophie curtsied. “Lord Bentley.”
“Miss Carter,” Charles said blankly. He took her hand and briefly bent over it.
Mrs. Miller kept the conversation going for a quarter of an hour, before Aunt Bentley called for the butler and instructed him to have “Miss Sophie’s” things brought down and put into the carriage. Mrs. Miller thanked Lady Bentley for a lovely visit and went to wait for the rest of the party by the door. Sophie and Ethan followed behind her.
“I hope to see you soon, Aunt Bentley,” Mariah said, surprising Aunt Bentley by embracing her. The older woman stood stiffly for a moment before softening and patting Mariah on the back.
Mariah turned to Charles and held out her hand. After a moment of hesitation, he took hers; his hand shook a little.
“I said some words last night that I’m sorry for this morning,” she said softly so that only Charles could hear. “I hope you prove everything you’ve set out to prove, especially to yourself. But most of all I hope you find happiness.”
Charles didn’t say anything. He bent over her hand before letting it go.
Mariah walked to Sophie and gratefully allowed her sister to put her arm around her waist. They left the house and entered the carriage, Ethan and Mrs. Miller seated on one side and Sophie and Mariah seated on the other.
“What a relief that’s over,” Mrs. Miller said, as they pulled away from the Bentleys’ house. She smiled kindly at the sisters. “Now, Sophie, introduce me properly to your sister.”
“Mrs. Miller, this is my sister, Mariah,” Sophie said with another of her dazzling smiles. “She’s a very talented painter and has all the sensibility I lack.”
Mariah blushed as Sophie and the Millers laughed.
“Mariah, I’m delighted to formally meet you,” Mrs. Miller said. “And I’m thrilled to have you stay with me for as long as you wish. All of my daughters are married, and I find myself quite without any female company. You’re doing me a great favor.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Miller,” Mariah said with a sniff. “I hope I won’t be a burden for too long.”
“You couldn’t be!” Mrs. Miller insisted with a wave of her hand. “I am delighted to have you for a companion while you pursue your art.”
Mariah looked into the woman’s face and saw only sincerity and caring. Her own eyes began to water; for so long she’d craved the love and attention of a mother figure. Sophie quickly supplied a handkerchief for her sister and gave her a one-armed hug.
“I would like very much to be your companion,” Mariah said wetly.
Mrs. Miller beamed. “There’s just one thing. I insist that my companions have only the most stylish of clothes, so I’ll have to take you both shopping for your own wardrobes. And I daresay each of you will like to select clothing that reflects your own unique personality.”
“Are you sure?” Mariah gently teased. “Sophie will want to purchase trousers.”
Everyone in the carriage laughed.
TWENTY-TWO
“I’M AFRAID THAT MISS C
ARTER is simply too old to be accepted for an apprenticeship,” said Mr. Moore, owner of Moore’s Curios Shop. “I never accept apprentices over the age of fourteen.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Moore,” Ethan said politely.
Sophie could hardly manage a curtsy to Mr. Moore, because the only time his beady eyes had looked at her during the interview, they’d been focused on her chest rather than her face. She sighed as she put her hand on Ethan’s arm.
He patted her hand lightly. “Don’t lose heart. I have two more interviews lined up.”
Ethan helped her back into the carriage and they drove for several blocks to a large building with a garish sign that read LONG’S EMPORIUM. They walked inside and Sophie was surprised to see a tidy showroom with every item for sale displayed perfectly, not a speck of dust to be seen. There was a young man standing on a stool dusting the higher shelves. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and Sophie could see bruises on his arms. When he noticed them walk in, the young man quickly unrolled his sleeves and clambered down from the stool to bow to Ethan and Sophie. She instantly felt sympathy for him.
“We have an appointment with Mr. Long,” Ethan said, handing the young man his card.
“This way, sir.”
They followed him up a narrow staircase to a spotless parlor with two sofas and three chairs. He picked up a bell on the table and rang it. Mr. Long, presumably, came into the room. He had a narrow face lined with black sideburns that reached down to his jaw. Behind him, a woman in a white cap came rushing into the room with one hand on her cap to keep it on her head. Sophie thought she must be the housekeeper.
“Mr. Miller, allow me to introduce my wife, Mrs. Long.”
Mr. Long cleared his throat and Mrs. Long bobbed an awkward curtsy before looking at her husband for direction. Mr. Long raised his eyebrows at her, and she shrank a little from him before saying, “Do please sit down.”
“You have a lovely home,” Sophie said, sitting on a sofa next to Ethan.
“We do indeed,” Mr. Long agreed. “And it’s a good thing, too, because I require all of my apprentices to live with us, and Mrs. Long treats them like they’re her own children, don’t you, Mrs. Long?”
“I-I do,” Mrs. Long said, her eyes wide and fearful. “M-my very best.”
Sophie knew that fear and pitied the woman.
“I’m sure you do,” Ethan said encouragingly.
“There’s no need to beat around the bush,” Mr. Long said as he looked at Ethan. “I’d be prepared to take Miss Carter on for my usual premium.”
Sophie cleared her throat. “What is your usual fee?”
Mr. Long glanced her way, but his eyes returned to Ethan’s. “Five hundred pounds.”
“Five hundred pounds!” she exclaimed. A quarter of her legacy from Captain Trenton!
“It’s not a bad premium for a seven-year apprenticeship, when you consider housing and board are included,” Mr. Long explained.
“Do your apprentices receive wages?” Sophie asked.
“They receive a small yearly stipend for clothing and other necessities.”
I’ve already worked eight years without wages, I’m not about to work any longer for free, Sophie thought furiously.
“Thank you, Mr. Long. I’ll consider your offer,” she said, standing. “Mrs. Long, goodbye.”
“Don’t consider too long, Mr. Miller,” Mr. Long said. “I only have the one opening and it won’t be vacant long.”
“We will let you know shortly,” Ethan said, and again touched his hat before squiring Sophie down the stairs and out of the establishment. She was relieved to leave the heat of the shop and the oppressive atmosphere. Even the close air of the carriage was preferable.
“If you’re worried about the money—” Ethan began, but Sophie placed a finger on his lips.
“Don’t. I know you’re only being kind, but I cannot and will not accept any money from you. Mariah and I already live in your home and your mother purchases our clothing. You know that I wish to be an independent woman.”
Ethan kissed her finger and gently held her hand. “I respect your independence, Miss Carter.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Miller,” Sophie said. “And I would not apprentice to Mr. Long even if he offered to teach me for nothing.”
“Why not?”
“Did you not see the bruises on his apprentice?”
Ethan shook his head.
“And how his wife startled in fright every time he spoke?”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid it escaped my notice.”
Of course Ethan hadn’t noticed. He’d never known fear or its twin sister, hunger. Sophie subconsciously shook herself. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t recognize the signs. “Where are we going next?”
“Mr. Elias Cooper, horologist.”
“A clockmaker?”
“I thought that your previous experience with clocks would be to your advantage,” he said with an apologetic smile.
“I hope so.”
Mr. Elias Cooper’s horologist shop was tucked in the back of an alley with only a small sign above the door. Ethan opened the door and a bell hanging from the doorknob chimed. The shop was tiny and very untidy. The walls and shelves were lined with all sorts of fancy clocks that Sophie had never even seen before—a cuckoo clock, a triple-decker clock, a mahogany beehive shelf clock, a steeple clock with reverse fusee movement, and wall clocks with painted pictures beneath the clock’s face. Other clocks had glass windows that showed their pendulum swinging back and forth.
Through a back door came a slight, older gentleman with round spectacles and an impressive gray beard that reached past his waist. He looked at Sophie through his spectacles as if appraising her.
“Mr. Cooper, may I introduce you to Miss Carter?” Ethan said formally.
Sophie stuck out her hand, but Mr. Cooper turned away from her. Self-consciously she let it fall to her side. When he turned back to them, he was holding a large shelf clock in his hands.
“I prefer demonstrations to words, Miss Carter,” he said as he set the shelf clock on the table. “I would like you to first tell me what is wrong with this clock and then, if you can, fix it.”
A smile formed on Sophie’s face as she pulled off her gloves. She lovingly touched the wooden casing of the shelf clock—it was mahogany—then opened the back and saw that it was a thirty-hour clock, time and strike, and weight driven. She turned the crank to raise the weight, which should have started the clock ticking, but it didn’t.
Carefully she checked the wheels, the rack, the snail, the ratchet, the hour hand, and the minute hand—they all looked to be in working order. She looked closer at the verge, the movement part that touches the pendulum and causes it to go back and forth, and noticed that it was crooked.
“The verge is bent,” Sophie said, then carefully bent the part back into position. She instantly heard a beautiful telltale ticktock: The clock was working again. Sophie closed the back and, out of habit, dusted it off before turning back to Mr. Cooper.
“Very good, Miss Carter,” he said. “Can you also repair a spring-driven clock?”
“Yes.”
“Your skills have not been exaggerated.”
“I’m eighteen years old,” Sophie said, her eyes darting to Ethan. “Some of the other masters thought I was too old to be apprenticed.”
“You’re not too old, per se,” Mr. Cooper said, stroking his long gray beard. “I accept apprentices up to the age of twenty-one.”
“Excellent,” Ethan said with a hopeful smile.
Mr. Cooper stroked his long beard again. “Where did you learn how to repair clocks?”
“From Mr. Nathaniel Ellis,” Sophie said. “He is a retired navy sailor who serviced ships’ chronometers. I helped him in his clock shop for the last eight years.”
He clucked his tongue. “He taught you well.”
“Mr. Cooper, may I ask what you would teach me if I were to be your apprentice?”
“
Since you already seem to understand basic clock maintenance, I would probably first start with oscillation and regulators.”
“I’m already familiar with both.”
“The different levers?”
“I know how to repair and set the top lever, maintenance, count, warning, J, and hammer levers.”
He rubbed his beard again. “I see. Are you at all familiar with German cuckoo clocks?”
“I confess, I’m not.”
“Fascinating little creatures,” he said. “I could teach you all about them.”
“Then you would be willing to take me on?”
Mr. Cooper laughed, a low raspy sound. “I would be a fool not to. You’re clearly a very talented young lady.”
“Thank you,” Sophie said, exhaling. “I’ll think about it, if I may?”
“You can have as much time as you’d like—we have an abundance of time in this shop,” Mr. Cooper said with another raspy laugh at his own jest.
Sophie smiled. “You do indeed. Thank you, sir.”
“Best of luck, Miss Carter,” Mr. Cooper said, and he did not wait to watch them leave but turned his back to them and started fiddling with a cuckoo clock.
Ethan closed the door behind them. “Why didn’t you accept his offer on the spot?”
Sophie lifted her chin. “Because he couldn’t teach me anything that I wanted to know.”
He nodded. “I see. Shall we keep looking?”
“No. Standing in his shop, I realized that I didn’t need to apprentice myself to anyone: clockmaker, tinker, or inventor,” she said, feeling a sense of calm in her soul. “I’m going to open my own shop and create my own inventions.”
* * *
“Excuse me, Miss Sophie,” the butler said with a bow, handing her a card. “A Mrs. Spooner to see you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins,” she replied. “I’ll come at once.”
Sophie stood and followed Jenkins to the sitting room, where Mrs. Spooner looked uncomfortable and out of place, sitting on the edge of the sofa.
“Mr. Jenkins, would you please be so good as to order tea for us?”
The Invention of Sophie Carter Page 18
