“Sonia, may I talk to you a while?” Edwina appealed.
“Of course.” Sonia set down her pad and pencil in surprise, and turned to the girl. Edwina looked younger today, in a simple lilac muslin, with blue ribbons tied under her slim young breasts. A scarf of white lace was thrown carelessly about her shoulders, and her beautiful blonde curls were tied back loosely. How the young men of London would rave if they could see her beauty now, thought Sonia.
Edwina seemed to find it hard to begin, then words burst forth. She fiddled with the lace ends of her scarf, twirled the blue ribbons.
“How — how do you know when a man likes you, really likes you?” she blurted out. Her cheeks had gone crimson, and her soft blue eyes were distressed.
A fine question indeed, thought Sonia bitterly. How would she know? Then she pulled herself together. It was the first time Edwina had confided in her. She would not let her down. She thought of her cousin Jacob and his wife Beryl. They had the best, most devoted marriage she had ever seen.
“Why — when the man is kind, and thoughtful to you,” she said finally. “When he thinks of your comfort first. When he works hard, not for a living, but to please you and make your home a — a nest for you and the — the children to come.” She looked out at the beautiful well-kept lawns of Fairley. Her voice caught in her throat. She thought of Jacob, his face radiant and shining with pride and joy as he held the little baby son in his arms. As he bent over Beryl anxiously on her couch, and enquired if she was more at ease now…
Edwina was heaving a great sigh. “Then Sir Philip Ryan does not love me!” she burst out, tears coming to her eyes. “He has neglected me, and forgotten to come to tea and — and I don’t think he cares a fig for me!”
Sonia thought of the dashing red-haired young man. “Hmmm,” she said. “I wonder — he is a friend of Alastair’s. Perhaps Alastair knows of some — some prior commitment that Sir Philip has. Is he courting someone else?”
Edwina wiped her eyes with a small lace-embroidered handkerchief. “I have listened to gossip about him,” she admitted, shamefaced. “Yet I could not bring myself to question Alastair further. I — I did ask him why Sir Philip did not come more often to the house. Alastair said he did not care for Sir Philip to come! Do you not think that is odd?”
Sonia frowned. It was odd, indeed. She had thought they were friends. “It may be that Alastair has discovered something — that Sir Philip is courting someone else, or that there is something… I mean — it might be to his discredit. Alastair thinks the world of you and Henrietta and Maurice. I am sure he wishes to protect you and make a marriage that will do you honour as well as make you happy.”
Edwina opened her blue eyes wide, and studied Sonia. “Do you know of something against Sir Philip?” she asked.
Sonia shook her head. “No, he seems pleasant enough. But sometimes men know each other, and hear things that ladies do not,” she added wisely.
“Could you ask Alastair?” ventured Edwina.
“Oh, dear!” cried Sonia involuntarily. Edwina giggled, and her blue eyes lightened.
“I should not ask — forget that I did so, dear Sonia!” she begged charmingly. “Perhaps I should not know. Perhaps I should just accept that — that Philip does not care for me — for if he did he would come. Oh, I suppose there are other men in the world,” she said with a toss of her head.
“There certainly are,” said Sonia. “And some of them clustered about you at the balls as though they longed to be even nearer. Who was that older man with the smart military coat of blue, with the gold frogging? He had such a hawklike, interesting face —”
Edwina curled up beside her. With an animated face, she proceeded to tell about him and about another beau, and on to other men and the times she had had. The words gushed out, confidingly, as though she had longed to have someone to listen with such interest. Sonia did listen. Putting in a diplomatic word or question at moments when Edwina flagged, she kept the girl talking. The brooding look was going from her face. Sir Philip had evidently hurt her, and it did her good to talk.
Henrietta wandered in, yawning, and opened her violet eyes in surprise to see her sister talking so to their sister-in-law. She soon curled up beside them, anxious to share in the reminiscences, telling of her beaus, the success of her season, and how much fun she had had. And how she looked forward to next season, and what clothes they would buy in the autumn.
It was quite the most pleasant afternoon Sonia had ever spent with them. When Maurice came in for tea, with Alastair soon following, looking weary but quietly happy, she was pleased to have them gathered close to the open fire, talking.
It was the first of many such pleasant summer days. The girls were more settled, Henrietta’s presentation and first season behind them. Sonia was absorbed in her sketches, in the housekeeping, and in her new role as confidante to her sisters-in-law. Maurice enjoyed the riding and hunting, and even put his hand to some work under Alastair’s direction. Alastair was busy as ever, setting the estate to rights, hearing complaints, hiring seasonal workers for the fields and for the harvest in the autumn.
They had visitors — the pastor of the church and his wife, the squire and his brood of children, several summer people down from London. On bright days, they could count on half a dozen or more visitors coming to tea and remaining for dinner. On rainy days, they were to themselves, and happy for it, sitting before the great roaring fire in the massive stone fireplace, talking of the day gone past.
Sonia had started making sketches for Edwina’s and Henrietta’s clothes for autumn. They were so eager and so lavish in their praises, she worked gladly for them. For Edwina, she chose simple designs to the girl’s taste, in delicate fabrics that would not clash with the girl’s gentle beauty. For Henrietta, she chose more daring designs, with great slashed sleeves of satin, and colours of tangerine and scarlet with brown braid. She thought about her jewellery designs also, and made a number of sketches for them, studying the flowers in the gardens for inspiration.
Wandering Jewish peddlers came often that summer, drawn by the news that a Jewish girl — one of their own — lived in the great house in Cornwall. Mrs Pendennis usually fed them before sending them brusquely on their way.
Sonia found out, and insisted that they should be greeted as guests, and put up for the night or longer. And that she should be informed when any came.
Reluctantly, Mrs Pendennis would send a maid to tell her when any of the wandering peddlers came. Sonia would go down to the great kitchens and greet them in Hebrew or German or Polish.
They would sit down at a kitchen table and talk. The peddlers were usually new to the country, knowing little English. With their black beards and hair, their unkempt appearance, their old clothes and foreign accents, they were viewed with great suspicion by the staff. Some, taking them for gypsies, wanted to lock up the silver.
Sonia would ask them for news. “How is it in Vienna?” she asked one from Austria.
“Bad, very bad,” he answered in German, shaking his head sorrowfully. “Until that madman Napoleon is defeated, there will be no peace. He is worse than the rest, he and his soldiers, poking here and there and trying to find out money and paintings. Some say his men have carried off half the treasures of Europe.”
They would sit and talk in a foreign language. The cooks and maids would eye them fearfully, wonderingly, hearing their mistress talk in those strange tongues. Sonia would see to it that the Jews would have plenty of food to eat, and more to take along with them. If they were shabby, she got clothes for them.
When one was robbed and beaten on the highway, she took him in and kept him for the summer. He had a room over the stable. Often in the twilight as he was recovering, they would hear his plaintive violin, sobbing like the cry of a lost soul.
“They make me shiver,” whispered Edwina, involuntarily hugging herself. “Those men, in such dark clothes, and walking everywhere. Why do they come here? What do they want?”
T
hey were seated before the fire on a rainy night. Sonia glanced up from her sketches, to see Edwina’s troubled look. Edwina was genuinely afraid of the strange men.
“Let me explain,” she said gently, laying aside her work. Maurice and Alastair put aside their gazettes, listening also. “Many places in Europe persecute the Jews. They have nowhere to hide. We send money to them, to help them come to England, where they have a better chance to remain alive, to make a living decently. Yet many cannot speak English. The first thing they must do is to learn English, and to speak it well. Next, they must learn to make a living. So, we provided them with goods such as the country wives need, and send them out to peddle in the country.”
“It seems cruel,” said Henrietta. “Listen to him play!” They all paused in their talking as the faint sounds of the violin came to them. “He is talented. Why must he wander the countryside?”
“He will learn English,” said Sonia patiently. “Later he will be set up in a shop, taught the trade, sponsored. If he wishes to send for his wife or mother or some other relative, the Jewish congregations will aid him. We help each other. As they helped me when I first came to London.”
“You!” exclaimed Maurice, looking at her, in her expensive velvet dress, the grey velvet like satin in the firelight, the trim of golden braid about her slim throat. “But why should you have needed help?”
“Because I inherited money?” She smiled faintly, and shook her dark head. “I was a girl of eleven. My mother had died —”
“Oh, wait, wait, start at the beginning!” urged Henrietta eagerly. “You never talk about yourself!”
Seeing they were genuinely interested, Sonia began again. She told about life in the Viennese ghetto. About her mother, and her tragic death at the hands of a drunken mob. About her father and his grief — how he had brought her to London, to her Uncle Meyer. “He did not live long, only long enough to see me here. He had no wish to live, once Mama was gone,” she added in a low tone, tears brimming in her eyes.
They listened, as though to a fairy story of some strange world. And indeed, it was a new world to them — this one of violence, suffering, hunger, and cruel death. She told them how good her uncle had been to her, how he had advised her, strengthened her. He had hired Leah to be her abigail, to teach and help her. Her cousins had been good to her. She had been taken in and become part of their family.
“Uncle wants only my good,” she said, with a little unconscious sigh, recalling to herself how he had arranged her marriage for money. “He has his own ways of arranging things, that is true. But I know he is a very wise man, and he looks far into the future. After my father died, my uncle was as my own father to me.”
They listened and questioned her, and she answered patiently. Then Edwina returned to the subject of the peddlers. “Well, I can see how they need help. But they look so — so ominous — I can’t help shuddering —”
“They do not look English,” said Sonia sadly. “One must look beyond that, into their eyes. You will see their sadness, their grief at leaving homes, families, friends, all they held dear, to come to a strange country and begin all over again. They are to be pitied and helped, not feared.”
“Sonia is right,” said Alastair, who had been listening in silence. Over his pipe smoke, he added, “We will take in all who wish to come here, my dear. I shall give orders that even when we are not in residence the peddlers are to be given food and shelter here, to stay as long as they wish. I will speak also to the parson, and see that he understands the situation. How much cruelty is done when we do not understand!”
His gaze met hers, and she knew he meant this for an apology to her, for all that had been said and done in her hearing, for all the malice that had been shown. She bent her head, wondering. How kind he could be, how gentle.
Alastair had been coming sometimes to her bedroom. She loved to be in his arms, but some cool reserve sometimes kept her from full response. That night when he came, she felt closer to him. He was beginning to comprehend her nature, her background, why she was the way she was.
He caressed her so carefully, so sweetly, that sometimes she shivered with delight. She wondered sometimes about a child. She was not pregnant yet. Could she become pregnant by him… would she have his child? And what would happen to a child of theirs?
She wanted a child... she adored Beryl’s little new son. She had held the mite in her arms, wondering at the perfection of his body, the exquisite little head, the tiny fingers, the warm clinging body. To have a child by Alastair! It would be so wonderful, no matter what pain she had to go through.
Yet — could she endure the insults her half-Jewish son would inevitably receive in his life? He would be a marquess, as his father had been, assuming one of Alastair’s other titles while young. He would be the eldest son, inheriting the titles, the estates, all that Alastair had. But — he would be half Jewish. Alastair did not bother to sit in the House of Lords. Would his Jewish heir be allowed to do so? Could they keep him out?
When she thought of the difficulties ahead, she could have groaned and flung out her arms in rebellion. It was too much to expect of her, that she could manage all this!
If she had only known, she would have refused to marry Alastair. And yet — she would have missed this — the warmth of his family now they had come to like her — the grand life of Society, even though she felt outside it. And Alastair himself, making love to her, treating her with honour and respect as his wife, helping her adjust smoothly to the many duties she had. And being in his arms — she would never have known the ecstasy he gave her.
She sighed and turned closer into his arms, snuggling her face against his bare chest. There was a deep V of curly blond hair down to below his waist. She put her hand timidly on it, then stroked down to his thighs daringly. He gasped with pleasure. “Oh, darling,” he murmured, and clasped her more closely. His kisses fell on her smooth shoulders, and he grew more passionate.
As he moved over her, she put her hands on his shoulders, so broad and wide and winged over her. She stroked her hands over his smooth skin, fingered the scar on one shoulder where he had been hurt in battle. If the sabre had gone more deeply, she would never have known him, never known him… The thought seemed unbearably sad.
He put his lips on her eyelids, felt the wetness there. “What is it, my dove, my dear?” he whispered anxiously.
“If we had never met — had never come to know each other —” she managed to say.
“Fate has strange ways of ordering us about,” he said against her cheek. He moved his lips to her earlobe and down below it in a tingling sensation. “Are you sorry?”
“No — no matter what — I am not sorry… Are you?”
He only laughed, and gathered her more closely. Afterwards, she remembered that he had not answered in words.
CHAPTER 12
In mid-July of that year of 1810, Meyer Goldfine sent a messenger to Sonia. He brought a letter, and had instructions to escort her back to London. She read the letter as he sat in the kitchen, taking some food and drink after his long hard journey.
Dearest Sonia,
I beg you to proceed at once to London. There is something urgent to be done, I cannot put it in a letter.
I beg you not to inform anyone of the matter. Tell your husband it is some business or other, you will think of something. I pray you to be here by July 14 if you can make it.
Your loving uncle, Meyer Goldfine
It was brusque, hurried, and she could tell by his hen-track penmanship that he had written in great haste. Sonia wondered at it, frowning over the missive. She spoke in German to the messenger. He shrugged, for either he knew no more than she did, or would not speak of it.
She folded the letter and went up to her room to tell Leah, ordering the abigail to pack for them both, then sent word to the coachman. Then she sat down to think what she would say to Alastair.
She had received several letters from Beryl and from Uncle Meyer, also from some merchants
who had fabrics and gems from the Orient to offer her. She must think of some convincing reason to go with such haste to London.
Alastair returned before she had her story ready. He came up to her bedroom.
“Sonia? One of the grooms told me that a stranger had come with a message for you. What is it?” His face was concerned.
“Why — it is from Uncle Meyer,” she said, turning her face from him. Leah was continuing to pack, setting garments into the two small trunks near the great wardrobe. He glanced at the abigail, frowned and turned back to Sonia.
“Where are you going?” he asked abruptly. He was tired, his boots muddy. He had been attending to a drainage ditch which had overflowed after a heavy rain. That he came to her room in such disarray showed his concern.
“I must go to London, Alastair,” she finally said, simply. “Uncle asked me to come. Beryl is not well, and neither is he. I am very worried. I must go.”
“Wait a few days, and I will go with you. I can instruct the men what to do. Maurice will take charge.”
It was already the eleventh of July. She could not wait, she had to leave immediately to be there by the fourteenth.
She managed a smile. “You must not leave your work for me, Alastair,” she said calmly. “Leah will accompany me, and Uncle’s servant. My own coachman shall drive me. You must not trouble yourself. I shall be back within a short time, I feel sure.”
He was not satisfied. “But why must you go in such haste? Surely his sons will see to his comfort —”
“I have always been close to him,” she said, feeling guilty. Meyer was not ill, at least he had not said so.
“Sonia, be reasonable! I will go with you when I can, within a short time —”
She shook her head, turning from him. “No, Alastair. I will go early tomorrow morning, as soon as the servant is rested. I pray you, do not stop me. I have also some business to attend to — there are merchants to see. That is not of much interest to you, I feel sure.” She smiled, and tried to say it playfully, but he scowled, wanting to argue about it.
Star Sapphire: Love and wild adventure in Regency England Page 15