Sophia: A Romance

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER V

  THE WORLD WELL LOST

  Mrs. Northey was no novice. She knew something of intrigue, somethingof her sex. Her first step was to discharge Sophia's woman, a villagemaid, who had come with her young mistress from the country. The keyof the offender's chamber was then intrusted to madam's own woman,Mrs. Martha, a sour spinster, matured not by years only, but by anunfortunate experience of the other sex, which secured her from thedanger of erring on the side of leniency where they were concerned.Mr. Northey could not immediately leave London, therefore it wasnecessary that arrangements for the culprit's transport to the surercustody of Aunt Leah at Chalkhill should be postponed, but all thatMrs. Northey could do short of this she did. And these dispositionsmade, she prepared to await events with a mind tolerably at ease.

  In every net, however, there are meshes, and small is the mesh throughwhich a large fish cannot escape. It is probable that poor blubberingDolly, the dismissed maid, innocent as she declared herself, was insomebody's pay, and knew where information could be sold. For beforeSophia had been confined to her room for four hours, before the firstpassionate tears were dried on her cheeks, a clock-maker, who had comein to regulate the tall clock on the stairs, made the odd mistake ofmounting, when no one was looking, to the second floor. A moment latera fingernail scraped Sophia's door, a note was thrust under it, anddeftly as he had come, the workman, a pale, fat, elderly man, creptdown again. He made little noise, for, to save his honour's drugget,he had left his boots in the hall.

  Sophia, recovering from a momentary astonishment, pounced on the note,opened it and read it; and, alas for her discretion, her eyes sparkledthrough her tears as she did so. Thus it ran:--

  "Sweetest and Best Beloved of your Sex,--

  "The raptures of my heart when my eyes dwell on yours cannot behidden, and must have convinced you that on you depends the life ordeath, happiness or misery, of your Hector. If you will, you canplunge me into an abyss of hopelessness, in which I must spend therest of my existence; or if you will, you can make me in possessingyou the happiest, as I am already in aspiring to you the boldest, ofmankind. Oh, my Sophia, dare I call you that? Can such bliss bereserved for me? Can it be my lot to spend existence in the worship ofthose charms, for which the adoration of the longest life passed inthinking of you and serving you were an inadequate price! May I dreamthat I shall one day be the most enviable of men? If so, there is butone course to be taken. Fly, dearest, fly, your cruel relatives, whohave already immured you, and will presently sacrifice you, innocentand spotless, on the vile altar of their ambition. Hold a whitehandkerchief against your window at six this evening, and the rest iseasy. At dusk the day after to-morrow--so much time I need--I willfind means to remove you. A few minutes later, Dr. Keith, of MayfairChapel, a reverend divine, who will be in waiting at my lodging, willunite you in indissoluble bonds to one whose every thoughtthenceforth--not given to his King--will be consecrated to thehappiness of his Sophia.

  "Already my heart beats with rapture; I swoon at the thought. The penfalls from the hand of your humble, adoring lover,

  "HECTOR (Count Plomer)."

  Need we wonder that Sophia held the letter from her and held it toher, scanned it this way, and scanned it that way, kissed it, andkissed it again; finally, with a glance at the door, hid it jealouslywithin her dress? She would have done these things had she been asmuch in the dark about Tom, and the machinations formed to rob him, asshe had been when she rose that morning. But she would have haltedthere. She would have pardoned her lover his boldness, perhaps haveliked him the better for it; but she would not have granted hisprayer. Now, her one aspiration was for the moment when she might takethe leap. Her one feeling was impatience for the hour when she mightgive the signal of surrender. The pillars of her house were shaken;her faith in her sister, in her friends, in her home was gone. Onlyher lover remained, and if he were not to be trusted she had no one.She did not tell herself that girls had done this thing before, maidenmodesty notwithstanding, and had found no cause to repent theirconfidence; for her determination needed no buttressing. Her cheekflamed, and she thrilled and trembled from head to foot as shepictured the life to which she was flying; but the cheek flamed ashotly when she painted the past and the intolerable craft and coldnessof the world on which she turned her back.

  The window of her room looked into Arlington Street. She stood at itgazing down on the stand of chairmen and sedans that stretched up toPortugal Street, a thoroughfare now part of Piccadilly. The end of thescaffolding outside Sir Robert Walpole's new house--the house nextdoor--came within a few feet of the sill on which she leaned; thehoarse, beery voices of the workmen, and the clangour of the hammers,were destined to recall that day to her as long as she lived. Yet forthe time she was scarcely conscious of the noise, so close was theattention with which she surveyed the street. Below, as on other days,beaux sauntered round the corner of Bennet Street on their way toWhite's, or stood to speak to a pretty woman in a chair. Country folkpaused to look at Sir Bluestring's new house; a lad went up and downcrying the _Evening Post_, and at the corner at the lower end ofArlington Street, then open at the south, a group of boys sat gamblingfor half-pence.

  Sophia saw all this, but she saw no sign of him she sought, though St.James's clock tolled the three quarters after five. Eagerly she lookedeverywhere, her heart beating quickly. Surely Hawkesworth would bethere to see the signal, and to learn his happiness with his own eyes?She leaned forward, then on a sudden she recoiled; Sir Hervey Coke,passing on the other side, had looked up; he knew, then, that she wasa prisoner! Her woman's pride rebelled at the thought, and hot withanger she stood awhile in the middle of the room. Whereon St. James'sclock struck six; it was the hour appointed. Without hesitation,without the loss of a moment, Sophia sprang to the window, and with asteady hand pressed her handkerchief to the pane. The die was cast.

  She thought that on that something would happen; she felt sure thatshe would see him, would catch his eye, would receive some mark of hisgratitude. But she was disappointed; and in a minute or two, aftergazing with a bold bashfulness this way and that, she went back intothe room, her spirits feeling the reaction. For eight and forty hoursfrom this she had naught to do but wait; for all that time she wasdoomed to inaction. It seemed scarcely possible that she could wait solong; scarcely possible that she could possess herself in patience.The first hour indeed tried her so sharply that when Mrs. Marthabrought her supper she was ready to be humble even to her, for thesake of five minutes' intercourse.

  But Mrs. Martha's conversation was as meagre as the meal she brought,and the girl had to pass the night as best she could. Next morning,however, when the woman--after jealously unlocking the door andsecuring it behind her after a fashion that shook the girl withrage--set down her breakfast, the crabbed old maid was morecommunicative.

  "Thank the Lord, it is a'most the last time I shall have to climbthose stairs," she grumbled. "Aye, you may look, miss"--for Sophia wasgazing at her resentfully enough--"and think yourself mighty clever!It's little you think of the trouble your fancies give such as me.There!" putting down the tray. "You may take your fill of that and notburst, either. Maybe 'tain't delicate enough for your stomach, but'twas none of my putting."

  Sophia was hungry and the meal was scanty, but pride made her averther eyes. "Why is it almost the last time?" she asked sharply. "Ifthey think they can break my spirit by starving me----"

  "Hoity toity!" the woman said, with more than a smack of insolence."I'd keep my breath to cool my porridge if I were you! Lord, Iwouldn't have your hot temper, miss, for something. But 'twon't helpyou much with your Aunt Leah, from all I hear. They say she was justsuch a one as you once, and wilful is no word for her."

  Sophia's heart began to beat. "Am I to go to her?" she asked.

  "Aye, that you are, and the sooner the better for my legs, miss!"

  "When?" Sophia's voice was low.
/>   "To-morrow, no later. The chaise is ordered for six. His honour willtake you himself, and I doubt you'll wish you'd brought your pigs toanother market before you've been there many days. Leastways, fromwhat I hear. 'Tis no place for a decent Christian, I'm told," thewoman continued, spitefully enjoying the dismay which Sophia could notconceal. "Just thatch and hogs and mud to your knees, and never awheeled thing, John says, in the place, nor a road, nor a mug of beerto be called beer. All poor as rats, and no one better than the other,as how should they be and six miles of a pack-road to the nearesthighway? You'll whistle for your lover there, miss."

  Sophia swallowed her rage. "Go down!" she said.

  "OH, LA! I DON'T WANT TO STAY!" MRS. MARTHA CRIED]

  "Oh, la! I don't want to stay!" Mrs. Martha cried, tossing her head."It's not for my own amusement I've stayed so long. And no thanks formy kindness, either! I've my own good dinner downstairs, and thelonger I'm here the cooler it'll be. Which some people like theirdinner hot and behave themselves accordingly. But I know my duty, andby your leave, miss, I shall do it."

  She bounced out of the room with that and turned the key on theoutside with a noisy care that hurt the ear if it did not wound thespirit. "Nasty proud-stomached thing!" she muttered as she descendedthe stairs. "I hope Madam Leah will teach her what's what! And for allshe's monstrous high now, I warrant she'll come to eating breast ofveal as well as another. And glad to get it. What Sir 'Ervey can seein her passes me, but men and fools are all one, and it takes mightylittle to tickle them if it be red and white. For my part I'm glad tobe rid of her. One's tantrums is as much as I can put up with, duty orno duty."

  Mrs. Martha might have taken the matter more easily had she known whatwas passing in the locked room she had left. Sophia's indifference wasgone; she paced the floor in a fever of uncertainty. How was she tocommunicate with her lover? How tell him that his plans wereforestalled, and that on the morrow, hours before his arrangementswere mature, she would be whisked away and buried in the depths of thecountry, in a spot the most remote from the world? True, at the footof his letter was the address of his lodging--at Mr. Wollenhope's inDavies Street, near Berkeley Square. And Dolly--though Sophia hadnever yet stooped to use her--might this evening have got a letter tohim. But Dolly was gone; Dolly and all her friends were far away, andMrs. Martha was stone. Sophia wrung her hands as she walked feverishlyfrom door to window.

  She knew nothing of the hundred channels through which a man of theworld could trace her. To her eyes the door of Chalkhill bore thelegend Dante had made famous. To her mind, to go to Aunt Leah was tobe lost to her lover, to be lost to the world. And yet what chance ofescape remained? Vainly thinking, vainly groping, she hung at thewindow tearing a handkerchief to pieces, while her eyes raked thestreet below for the least sign of him she sought. There were the samebeaux strutting round the same corner, hanging on the same arms,bowing to the same chairs, ogled from the shelter of the same fans.The same hackney-coachmen quarrelled, the same boys gambled at thecorner. Even Sir Hervey paused at the same hour of the afternoon,looked up as he had looked up yesterday, seemed to hesitate, finallywent on. But Hawkesworth--Hawkesworth was nowhere.

  Her eyes aching with long watching, the choke of coming tears in herthroat, Sophia drew back at last, and was in the act of castingherself on her bed in a paroxysm of despair, when a shrill voicespeaking outside her door reached her ears. The next moment she heardher name.

  She sprang to the door, the weight lifted from her heart. Anyhappening was better than none. "Here!" she cried. "Here!" And shestruck the panels with her hands.

  "Where? Oh, I see," the voice answered. Then "Thank you, my goodwoman," it went on, "I'll trouble you no farther. I can open formyself. I see the key is in the lock."

  But on that Mrs. Martha's voice was raised, loudly remonstrant."My lady," she cried, "you don't understand! I've the strictestorders----"

  "To keep her in? Just so, you foolish thing. And so you shall. But notto keep me out. Still--just to be sure I'll take the key in with me!"On which Sophia heard the key turn sharply in the lock, the door flewopen, and in bounced Lady Betty. To insert the key on the inside andsecure the door behind her was the work of a moment. Then she droppedthe astonished Sophia an exaggerated curtsey.

  "La, miss, I crave your pardon, I'm sure," she said, "for calling yourname so loud on the stairs, but that silly thing would do nothing buther orders. So as she would not show me the way, I ran up myself."

  "You're very kind!" Sophia said. And she stood, trembling, and feelingsudden shame of her position.

  Lady Betty seemed to see this. "La! is it true they won't let youout?" she said.

  Sophia muttered that it was.

  The visitor's eyes roved from the meagre remains of the midday meal tothe torn shreds of handkerchief that strewed the floor. "Then it's ashame! It's a black monstrous shame!" she cried, stamping on thefloor. "I know what I should do if they did it to me! I should break,I should burn, I should tear! I should tear that old fright's wig offto begin! But I suppose it's your sister?"

  "Yes."

  Lady Betty made a face. "Horrid thing!" she exclaimed. "I never didlike her! Is it because you won't--is it because you have a lover,miss?"

  Sophia hesitated. "La, don't mind me. I have five!" the child criednaively. "I'll tell you their names if you like. They are nothing tome, the foolish things, but I should die if I hadn't as many as othergirls. To see them glare at one another is the finest sport in theworld."

  "But you love one of them?" Sophia said shyly.

  "La, no, it's for them to love me!" Lady Betty cried, tossing herhead. "I _should_ be a fool if I loved them!"

  "But the letter--that I tore up?" Sophia ventured.

  The child blushed, and with a queer laugh flung herself on the other'sneck and kissed her. "That was from a--a lover I ought not to have,"she said. "If it had been found, I should have had my ears boxed, andbeen sent into the country. You saved me, you duck, and I'll neverforget it!"

  Sophia bent on the most serious imprudence could be wise for another."From a lover whom you ought not to have?" she said gravely. "You'llnot do it again, will you? You'll not receive a second?"

  "La, no, I promise you," Lady Betty cried, volubly insistent."He's--well, he's a nobody, but he writes such dear, darling, charmingnotes! There, now you know. Oh, yes, it was horrid of me. But I hatehim. So that's enough."

  "You promise?" Sophia said, almost severely.

  "I vow I do," Lady Betty cried, hugging her. "The creature's a wretch.Now tell me, you poor thing, all about _him_. I've told you myaffair."

  Here was indeed a blind leader of the blind, but after a littlehesitation Sophia told her story. She was too proud to plead thejustification her sister's treatment of Tom supplied; nor was thereneed of this. Even in the bud, Lady Betty found the story beautiful;and when Sophia went on to her lover's letter, and blushing andfaltering owned that he had pressed her to elope, the listener couldcontain herself no longer. "Elope!" she cried, springing up withsparkling eyes. "Oh, the dear bold man! Oh, how I envy you!"

  "Envy me?"

  "Yes! To be locked in your room and starved--I hope they starveyou--and scolded and threatened and perhaps carried into the country.And all the time to be begged and prayed and entreated to elope, andthe dear creature wailing and sighing and consuming below. Oh, youlucky, lucky, lucky, girl!" And Lady Betty flung herself on Sophia'sneck and embraced her again and again. "You lucky thing! And thenperhaps to be forced to escape down a ladder----"

  "Escape?" Sophia said, shaking her head piteously. And she explainedhow far she was from escaping. "By this time to-morrow," shecontinued, choked by the bitter feelings the thought of to-morrowbegot, "I shall be at Chalkhill!"

  "No, you will not!" Lady Betty cried, her eyes sparkling. "You willnot!" she repeated. "By good luck 'tis between lights. Put on yourhoop and sacque. Take my hat and laced jacket. Bend your knees as yougo down the stairs, you gawk, and no one will be a bit the wiser."

  So
phia stared at her. "What do you mean?" she said.

  "Northey's at the House, your sister's at Lady Paget's," the girlexplained breathlessly. "There is only the old fright outside, andshe's had a taste of my tongue and won't want another. You may walkstraight out before they bring candles. I shall wait ten minutes untilyou are clear, and then, though they'll know it's a bite, they won'tdare to stop my ladyship, and--oh, you darling, it will be the purest,purest fun. It will be all over the town to-morrow, and I shall bepart of it!"

  Sophia shuddered. "Fun?" she said. "Do you call it fun?"

  "Why, of course it will be the purest, purest fun!" the other cried."The prettiest trick that ever was played! You darling, we shall bethe talk of the town!" And in the gaiety of her heart, Lady Bettylifted her sacque, and danced two or three steps of a minuet. "Weshall--but how you look, miss! You are not going to disappoint me?"

  Sophia stood silent. "I am afraid," she muttered.

  "Afraid? Afraid of what?"

  "I am afraid."

  "But you were going to him to-morrow?"

  Sophia blushed deeply. "He was coming for me," she murmured.

  "Well, and what is the difference?"

  The elder girl did not answer, but her cheeks grew hotter and hotter."There is a difference," she said.

  "Then you'll go to Chalkhill!" Lady Betty cried in derision, her voicebetraying her chagrin. "La, miss, I vow I thought you'd more spirit!or I would not have troubled you!"

  Sophia did not retort; indeed, she did not hear. In her heart waspassing a struggle, the issue of which must decide her lot. And sheknew this. She was young, but she knew that as her lover showedhimself worthy or unworthy of her trust so must her fate be happy ormost miserable, if she went to him. And she trembled under theknowledge. Chalkhill, even Chalkhill and Aunt Leah's stinging tongueand meagre commons seemed preferable to a risk so great. But then shethought of Tom, and of the home that had grown cold; of thecompensations for home in which others seemed to find pleasure, theflippant existence of drums and routs, the card-table and themasquerade. And in dread, not of Chalkhill, but of a loveless life, inhope, not of her lover, but of love, she wrung her hands. "I don'tknow!" she cried, the burden of decision forcing the words from her asfrom one in pain. "I don't know!"

  "What?"

  "Whether I dare go!"

  "Why," Lady Betty asked eagerly, "there is no risk."

  "Child! child, you don't understand," poor Sophia wailed. "Oh, what,oh, what am I to do? If I go it is for life. Don't you understand?"she added feverishly. "Cannot you see that? It is for life!"

  Lady Betty, startled by the other's passion, could only answer, "Butyou were going to-morrow, miss? If you were not afraid to goto-morrow----"

  "Why to-day?" Sophia asked bitterly. "If I could trust him to-morrow,why not to-day? Because--because--oh, I cannot tell you!" And shecovered her face with her hands.

  The other saw that she was shaking from head to foot, and reluctantlyaccepted a situation she only partly understood. "Then you won't go?"she said.

  The word "No" trembled on Sophia's lips. But then she saw as in aglass the life to which she condemned herself if she pronounced it;the coldness, the worldliness, the lovelessness, the solitude in acrowd, all depicted, not with the compensating lights and shadowswhich experience finds in them, but in crude lines such as they wearin a young girl's fancy. In the past was nothing to retain her; in thefuture her lover beckoned; only maiden modesty and dread of she knewnot what withstood a natural impulse. She would and she would not.Painfully she twisted and untwisted her fingers, while Lady Bettywaited and looked.

  On a sudden in Arlington Street a small-coalman raised his shrill cry;she had heard it a score of times in the last two days; now she feltthat she could not bear to hear it again. It was a small thing, buther gorge rose against it. "I will go!" she cried hoarsely. "Give methe clothes."

  Lady Betty clapped her hands like a child at play. "You will? Oh,brave!" she cried. "Then there's not a minute to be lost, miss. Takemy laced jacket and hat. But stay--you must put on your sacque andhoop. Where are they? Let me help you. And won't you want to takesome--la, you'll have nothing but what you stand up in!"

  Sophia winced, but pursued her preparations as if she had not heard.In feverish haste she dragged out what she wanted, and in five minutesstood in the middle of the room, arrayed in Lady Betty's jacket andhat, which, notwithstanding the difference in height, gave her such apassing resemblance to the younger girl as might deceive a person in ahalf light.

  "You'll do!" Lady Betty cried; all to her was sport. "And you'll justtake my chair: it's a hack, but they know me. Mutter 'home,' and stop'em where you like--and take another! D'you see?"

  The two girls--their united ages barely made up thirty-four--flungthemselves into one another's arms. Held thus, the younger felt thewild beating of Sophia's heart, and put her from her and looked at herwith a sudden qualm of doubt and fear and perception.

  "Oh," she cried, "if he is not good to you! If he--don't! don't!" shecontinued, trembling herself in every limb. "Let me take off yourthings. Let me! Don't go!"

  But Sophia's mind was now made up. "No," she said firmly; and then,looking into the other's eyes, "Only speak of me kindly, child, if--ifthey say things."

  And before Lady Betty, left standing in the middle of the darkeningroom--where the reflection of the oil lamps in the street below wasbeginning to dance and flicker on the ceiling--had found words toanswer, Sophia was half-way down the stairs. The staircase was darkerthan the room, and detection, as Lady Betty had foreseen, was almostimpossible. Mrs. Martha, waiting spitefully outside her mistress'sdoor on the first floor landing, saw as she thought, "that littlebaggage of a ladyship" go down; and she followed her muttering, butwith no intention of intercepting her. John in the hall, too, saw hercoming, and threw wide the door, then flew to open the waiting chair."Home, my lady?" he asked obsequiously, and passed the word; finally,when the chair moved off, he looked up and down, and came in slowly,whistling. Another second, and the door of the house in ArlingtonStreet slammed on Sophia.

  "And a good riddance!" muttered Mrs. Martha, looking over thebalusters. "I never could abear her!"