When Sophy heard the news she would have loved to have been able to make a trip to Sunderland then and there, but having only recently returned to the theatre she felt she couldn’t justify such an indulgence. She had to content herself with sending Patience armfuls of flowers and a promise that she would try and travel up to see little Peter William in the New Year.
There had been one or two changes in Sophy’s work-life, the main one being Kane taking on the role of her agent. He had recently sold his partnerships in several theatres, along with his travelling company, to take on the new venture as theatrical agent, and it was already proving hugely successful. He had many contacts within the entertainment industry and was extremely well thought of, and within three months his books were full. When asked what had prompted such a move, Kane was non-committal, airily passing off such enquiries by saying he’d felt the need for a change for some time and fresh stimulus. Not even to Ralph would he admit that the prime motive had been a wish to inveigle himself more firmly into Sophy’s life.
Sophy had decided to go back to her roots in the theatre. As an established and firm favourite of the West End, she could command a role in any of the major theatres and they would have been delighted to have her, but she felt she wanted to return to the smaller companies which dealt with the taboo subjects such as divorce, sex, women’s rights and prostitution, by little-known playwrights as well as established dramatists like Shaw, Ibsen and Barrie. Kane warned her it was something of a risk. Fans could be fickle and there was no guarantee they would follow her on the strength of her name, but she was determined that when her present contract finished at the end of the year, she would consider her next part very carefully and do something meaningful.
She had also taken up Cat’s baton with regard to the Vote for Women cause, not just because of her friend or the events of the last months, but because the gross inequality women faced in all walks of life had begun to stir her fighting spirit more and more.
So it was, on a cold mid-December afternoon, she attended the first public meeting of the Actresses’ Franchise League which was held at the Criterion Restaurant, a prestigious establishment in the heart of London. Stars of the West End stage arrived dressed to the nines and surrounded by hordes of fans, male and female. It was a truly glittering occasion, and inside the restaurant, four hundred actresses, actors and dramatists listened to numerous telegrams of support from influential men and women of the decade.
The two speakers were both women, but despite the exclusively female membership of the League, the chair was taken by the efficacious actor-manager, Johnston Forbes-Robertson, who was a firm supporter of women’s rights. As would be expected at a meeting made up of a good number of men and women from the entertainment industry, including Shakespearean actresses like Ellen Terry, the darling of the Lyceum Theatre, and comediennes of the calibre of Mrs Kendal, both in their sixties, the speeches were given with flair and a certain amount of facetiousness. However, no one present, including the cynical newspaper reporters, could doubt the genuine passion and determination of those involved.
Sophy had been asked to give a short word of support and she kept it light and amusing – but with a sting in the tail when she asked why the actress’s life was a paradox: off stage she could marry and divorce, even take lovers if she was so inclined, but on stage she was expected to play a dutiful wife and daughter or a ‘scarlet woman’, conventional roles in a predictable mould.
She sat down to a standing ovation, and even Kane – who had escorted her to the event whilst expressing his doubts about Sophy getting too involved in the organisation – had stood to his feet. Sophy enjoyed every minute of the meeting and afterwards, when Kane took her out for a meal before her evening performance at the theatre, had waxed lyrical about her new crusade.
The next day the newspapers had been full with the names of the West End stars who had publicly demanded the vote, and when the manager of the theatre Sophy was presently working at tried to put pressure on her to withdraw from the League, she told him she was going to get more involved, if anything. She wasn’t surprised when her contract wasn’t renewed, neither was she concerned. Kane had negotiated an excellent part for her as the leading lady in one of the smaller but well-respected theatres, and the part – which kept clear of specific Suffrage party politics and concentrated on the generalised sexual inequalities of Edwardian society – was one she felt she could get her teeth into.
There was a two-week interval between finishing at the present theatre and taking up her part at the General, so on 2 January, the day after thousands of Britons over seventy years of age went to the Post Office to draw their first weekly pension of five shillings, Sophy set off for the north-east with Sadie at her side to keep her promise to Patience. She found she was immensely grateful for Sadie’s company; she hadn’t expected to feel so nervous about returning home. No, not home, she corrected herself for the umpteenth time as the train steamed its way through the bitterly cold countryside. London was her home now. Southwick was merely the place where she had been born and lived the first sixteen years of her life.
It got colder the further north they travelled, and it had just begun to snow and the darkening sky looked full of it as the train chuffed its way into Central Station. Sophy had been able to eat little on the journey, her stomach tied up in knots. She had left this town thirteen years ago, heartsore and determined never to return, and yet here she was.
She glanced at herself in the train window, her fingers nervously stroking the little silver ballerina brooch Miss Bainbridge had given her and which she wore always. Her grey suit was both expensive and tasteful, and with her fur coat, muff and hat, she looked every inch the wealthy gentlewoman, but that was just on the outside. Inside she felt like the bewildered, frightened young girl who had fled these shores. This, returning home – she didn’t check the word this time – was harder than she had expected it to be. She wished now she had accepted Kane’s suggestion that he accompany her. His solid support would have been a comfort.
She didn’t ask herself why she had refused his offer, she knew that only too well. There could be a chance – remote, maybe, but still a possibility nonetheless – that he might find out about her mother, her beginnings. And she wouldn’t be able to bear it if he looked at her differently. She now accepted that something had happened the morning she had gone unannounced to Kane’s house. It was then that she had been forced to think of him as a man, rather than her friend and one-time benefactor. She had felt disturbed at the time but she’d pushed her feelings to the back of her mind, having more – as she had put it to herself – important things to think about.
She had never asked him about his private life and would rather die than do so, but at the oddest moments since that morning she found herself imagining him with a woman – any woman – and when she did so, her feelings were plunged into a turmoil of which she was ashamed. Kane had always been so good to her, fatherly even, and she was sure he thought of her as something between a daughter or a fond niece – and a friend, of course. And she was further mortified that this had become increasingly irritating to her. She didn’t want any involvement with anyone on a romantic level, she was sure about that after the years of being trapped in a marriage that had been a mockery from the start, so why did it matter how Kane regarded her? It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. She was being ridiculous and perverse.
She’d imagined she would be able to see him in the way she once had when she’d agreed to his proposal that he become her agent. It would set their relationship on more of a business footing, she had argued to herself, and she had been thinking about employing an agent for some time. Some of the actresses she worked with had agents and some did not, but there was no doubt that a good agent was of considerable benefit to an actress’s career. And so she had been all for his suggestion. But it hadn’t helped. To be fair to Kane, he was still the kind, benevolent gentleman he’d always been, somewhat patriarchal and protective but he had be
en well brought up and was that way with all women. At times she sensed a reserve about him, but that had probably been there since she’d known him. Cat had called him enigmatic once, and she had been right. And yet when Patience had stayed with her and Kane had visited, he had seemed more relaxed with her cousin than he ever was with her. To her great chagrin, she had found she was jealous, jealous of dear Patience, and it was then she had told herself enough was enough.
‘There’s Dr Aldridge, ma’am.’ Sadie was peering out of the train window. ‘And he’s buttonholed one of the porters.’
The next few minutes were hectic but eventually the luggage was loaded on top of the cab William had waiting and the horse was clip-clopping its way through the now fast-falling snow. Sophy looked out at familiar landmarks. She had gone to see Dolly and Jim at Christmas, her arms full of presents, and had confided in the motherly Dolly her apprehension about the visit back to her roots. Dolly’s advice had been the usual mixture of homespun commonsense and optimism. ‘Blood’s thicker than water, lovey, and to my mind it’s a blessing you came across your cousin that day. I don’t know what you were running away from when you left the north and I don’t need to know, but you’re your own woman now. It won’t do no harm to lay a few ghosts in the long run, even if you’re a bit jittery. You go and have a nice time and see that little one. That’ll cheer you up.’
Dear Dolly. Sophy smiled to herself. There were some things that never changed, and Dolly was one of them. Every time she walked into that kitchen it was like stepping back thirteen years ago, and she would never forget the old couple’s kindness to a petrified young girl who hadn’t had a friend in the world.
Patience must have been waiting at the window because as soon as the cab drew up outside the imposing semi-detached house in Barnes View, she was on the doorstep, her face alight. It was a lovely welcome. The six-bedroomed house was also lovely. The garden – what Sophy could see of it under its mantle of white – was lovely, too. But baby Peter, he was exquisite. He had been asleep when she arrived, but as they were finishing the tour of the house he began to stir and Patience took her into the beautifully decorated nursery. With little ado, she whisked the baby out of his bassinet and plonked him straight into Sophy’s arms, taking her by surprise. She stared down into the tiny face looking up at her, wonder filling her heart as she saw the minute eyelashes, the little snub nose and blue-grey eyes. A small hand, complete with the tiniest fingernails imaginable plucked at the air for a moment, and then, like a ray of sunshine which brightened the whole room, the baby gave her a big toothless smile.
‘There,’ said Patience, pretending not to notice the tears in Sophy’s eyes, ‘he knows his Aunty Sophy already. He doesn’t smile for everyone, believe me.’
‘He’s utterly adorable, Patience, and so beautiful,’ said Sophy, her voice husky.
‘I know.’ Patience smiled happily. ‘I still don’t know how we managed to have such a pretty baby. If we are fortunate enough to have more, I hope they are as bonny, especially if we have a girl. I always thought it was so unfair I had three good-looking brothers, looking like I do.’ And then, as Sophy made to protest, Patience added, ‘It’s all right, Sophy. I don’t mind that I’m plain now, truly, because I know William doesn’t see me like that. You know, when I was a young girl and I realised for the first time what sort of a trick nature had played on me, I used to pray that my guardian angel – Father had always taught us that we each had a guardian angel who looked over us – would work a miracle and change me into a beauty while I slept. And each morning I woke up with my heart fluttering and looked in the mirror. I was so jealous of you, not just because you are so beautiful but because I knew everyone – everyone except Mother and Father, of course – preferred you to me. The boys never made a secret of it, and I knew Bridget and Kitty and our governess didn’t even like me. Looking back, I can see it wasn’t my appearance that was the problem.’ She grimaced. ‘I was a horrible little beast. And then came the day when Mother beat you half to death and I saw something of myself in her.’
‘Oh, Patience.’ Sophy didn’t know what to say.
‘It frightened me. Terrified me. And although I wouldn’t have wanted my moment of truth to come at the cost of you nearly dying, it was the lesson I needed. And then we went away to school and I discovered I liked you, but – but I didn’t know how to say it, I suppose. When you left after that last row with Mother I missed you terribly, and it was then I realised you’d become the sister I’d always wanted, but it was too late to tell you. And I didn’t think you’d have believed me anyway.’
Sophy smiled through her tears. ‘I believe you now.’
‘We were going to ask you together but I know William won’t mind; we want you to be Peter’s godmother. Will you, Sophy?’
‘Me?’ Sophy was astounded.
‘Will you? William’s best friend is going to be his godfather.’
‘But your parents? Your mother won’t stand for it.’
A hard look came over Patience’s face. ‘My mother will have no say one way or the other, but I doubt she will attend. She has already taken offence because we are not holding the christening at Father’s church, but William wanted it at the one we go to.’
Sophy’s gaze returned to the baby in her arms as Peter gave a little gurgle. He’d won her heart for ever with that first gummy smile. ‘I’d love to be his godmother.’
‘Good. That’s settled. Now bring him downstairs, as I think Tilly’s prepared tea and cakes in the drawing room. We can catch up on all the news. Oh, Sophy’ – Patience beamed at her – ‘we’re going to have such a lovely time.’
Sophy did have a lovely time. For the first few days she enjoyed herself helping Patience with the baby, bathing him and putting him to bed. At the weekend, John and Matthew and their wives came to dinner, and both of them invited her back to their respective homes the following week. On the last day before she was due to return to London – a Sunday – Peter’s christening was held at the parish church in Bishopwearmouth which Patience and William attended. A family get-together took place afterwards; this included Jeremiah, who had missed the christening, having his own church service to see to.
Sophy was shocked at how old and frail her uncle looked when she saw him. He was approaching seventy, but could easily have been mistaken for a man of eighty years or more. She had been secretly dreading meeting him again, but he simply kissed her cheek and politely asked after her health before retreating to a comfy chair in one of the alcoves bordering the large drawing-room windows. There he sat, surveying the assembled company through the steel pince-nez perched on the end of his nose and saying little to anyone.
It was later in the day after the buffet tea Tilly and Sadie had prepared that Jeremiah approached Sophy. John’s twin boys were asleep on her lap, and sitting down beside her on the sofa he said, ‘You’ve a way with children. Those two are little imps usually.’
Sophy’s heart was thudding and her mouth dry, but her voice was remarkably steady when she said, ‘They’re high-spirited, that’s all, and very bright, but then their father and uncles are above average intelligence so I suppose it’s to be expected.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ He didn’t look at her as he said, ‘You have no children, I understand? I’m sorry about that. They would have been a comfort to you after the death of your husband.’
Sophy had agreed with Patience and William at the time of Toby’s death that they would merely tell the family her husband had met with an unfortunate accident and leave it at that. Now her voice didn’t falter: ‘I would have liked children, of course, but my husband’s death was not the blow it would have been if we had been happily married. We were separated at the time of his accident.’
She had evidently surprised him as his quick glance at her showed. ‘Again, I’m sorry.’
Sophy shrugged. ‘In hindsight I made bad choices. The evidence of what he was really like was always there but I ignored it to my cost.’
&
nbsp; ‘Ah, hindsight. I know all about hindsight.’ He sighed deeply. ‘And bad choices. My life is littered with them. I thought I knew it all when I was a young man, what I wanted to achieve in my life and how to achieve it. Looking back, it was all dross of course – worldly acclaim and so on. This’ – he waved his hand at his children and grandchildren – ‘is what is important, and it is only by the grace of God I can have a measure of it now. The mysteries of human nature are manifold, and considering our Creator knows exactly what we are like, I find it more amazing as I get closer to meeting Him that He bothers with us at all.’
Now it was Sophy’s turn to be surprised. Her uncle had changed and she hadn’t expected that.
‘I am glad I have seen you again before He calls me home.’ For the first time that evening Jeremiah looked her full in the face. ‘I want you to know that your mother – my sister – wasn’t a bad woman at heart. I thought so once, but as I have reflected on it, I realise our parents unwittingly instigated much of her rebellion. I was an easy child to handle – put up the line of least resistance, you know? But Esther was spirited from a baby. My parents were frightened by this, they didn’t understand her and so, thinking they were doing the best for their daughter, they imposed so many restrictions that I believe she felt like a caged animal. When she escaped the cage . . .’ He sighed again. ‘She was a beautiful young girl but innocent when she left the vicarage, ill-prepared for the outside world.’
It was the first time she had been able to talk about her mother. Painfully, she swallowed. ‘She . . . she had lovers.’
Break of Dawn Page 27