Sophie's Halloo

by Patricia Wynn

  “I understand,” said Tony. “My father was one of them. But my mother is quite a different story. I will take you to meet her one day. You will like her.” He took up the reins again and headed the horses toward Berkeley Square. Sophie thanked him for his offer, feeling the full compliment of the gesture. She wondered if he would really take her there and why he should want to.

  “Since we are being so forthright with our curiosity today, Miss Corby,” he said presently, “perhaps you could answer a question for me.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Why is it that you look so uncomfortable when anyone talks about your coming out? Do you not like the prospect?”

  Sophie gave a big sigh. “Oh, that. Well, I suppose it may be fun to go to assemblies and such things and to meet new people, like you. But my father has made it quite clear that this will be my only chance to marry, you see. So I must be married by the end of the season or he shall marry me off to someone of his own choosing. He does not wish to waste another season away from his hunting.”

  “And you do not wish to be married? Is that it?”

  “I didn’t think so,” began Sophie, “at least not before I met...” She broke off suddenly, realizing that what she had been about to say might sound terribly odd, though she had only meant that meeting Sir Tony had taught her that there were other kinds of gentlemen than the ones she was used to. She fancied he looked at her strangely, so she went on. “That is, I do not want to marry just for the sake of being off Papa’s hands. I do not want to go to live with someone with whom I have nothing in common.”

  Tony smiled understandingly. She found it hard to resist smiling back. “No,” he said, “you must certainly not do that.” But seeing that a certain bleakness was returning to her face, he assured her, “Please do not worry. You will meet many interesting people here, and I shall hope that one of them will strike your fancy.”

  “But what if that does not happen?” Sophie asked.

  They had turned on to the square by now, and Tony pulled the horses over to the curb. “Then someone,” he said mysteriously, “will be seriously disappointed.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next few days were busy ones. Sophie and her mother went all over Town calling on old acquaintances and shopping for trimmings to gowns, reticules and pelisses. They were careful to stay within the budget Sir John had given them, for he would not likely be pleased if Sophie’s London season cost him more than he had planned.

  While they were out on their errands, Sir John himself spent his time at Boodle’s or looking in on the sales at Tattersall’s. He was finding that there was much pleasure to be had in meeting up with other fox-hunting devotees who had been dragged to Town by their wives, and there was something to be said for being able to drop in on the sales when a prime horse was likely to be sold.

  After one morning spent in such a fashion, Sir John came home to find his wife and daughter returned with their purchases from the day’s shopping. He instantly asked to inspect the bills and was outraged at the sum.

  “French gloves,” he exclaimed, “lace, ribbons—what is all this, Clarissa? And look at this—yards and yards of poplin at 4s, 5d from Layton & Shear’s! And brocade! I thought we had Sophie’s clothes made before we left home so they wouldn’t cost so much, and now you seem to be starting all over again!” Sir John’s face was quite red.

  Lady Corby had not expected his objection, and she was taken aback, but she tried to answer calmly. “Her gowns were made at home, Sir John. But we could not find the trimmings back in the village. These will be added to Sophie’s dresses to make them more attractive. And I’m afraid the poplin is for me. If I am going to accompany Sophie to her engagements, I must have something to wear that will not embarrass her.”

  “But what about these gloves and the brocade?” he insisted.

  “Now, dear,” pleaded Lady Corby, “you must remember that you gave us permission to have a ball gown made here in London so we could see just what the fashions are. And it was good planning for us to wait, for we have learned that gowns are not so much off the shoulder as they were, and we would not have Sophie appear different. And,” she added, “a good pair of gloves is a must, and they are not to be had at this price at home.”

  Sir John was shaking his head in defeat. It was clear that he thought he had been betrayed. “I don’t know, Clarissa. I just don’t know. It all seems so frivolous. I daresay that Sophie will be engaged before the month is out, and we shall find that all of this expense could have been avoided. It comes at a devilish bad time, too.”

  The worry in his voice alarmed Lady Corby, and Sophie, too, felt a pang of conscience that she might be overstretching the family income. “What is it, Sir John?” her mother asked anxiously. “What is wrong? Why is this a particularly bad time?”

  Sir John regarded them both with an air of reproach. “Because I have just purchased a new nag,” he said impressively. “Had to pay top price for him, too. The bidding at Tattersall’s was fierce, but I had it on good authority that he was a prize not to be missed. Lord Kemple assured me that he had put him over many a fence six feet and higher with never a miss. Only had to sell him because it’s either that or face the bailiff. He’s all to pieces.” Sir John shook his head in commiseration.

  Lady Corby glanced at Sophie, and Sophie saw a look in her mother’s eyes that she had never seen before. It was as though something was suddenly clear. Lady Corby turned once again to her husband.

  “It astonishes me, Sir John,” she said with unaccustomed firmness, “that you would complain about poplin at 4s, 5d when you have just bought another horse for £750!”

  “But it was £850!” he exclaimed in a tone of perfect reason.

  “Eight hundred fifty pounds, then,” repeated Lady Corby. “I thought you said you were not going to make any additions to your stables this year, since you would not be at home to use them until next November.”

  Her reasoning did not seem to carry with Sophie’s father. “That is beside the point, Clarissa. What I am saying is that these purchases of bows and ribbons and—and furbelows have got to be kept within bounds. I will not have this family paying on tick. It shall be bills paid with us or we simply cannot have things. I have no wish to end up like Kemple, now. Do you?”

  Lady Corby sighed in exasperation, “Certainly not, Sir John. But it would surprise me if Lady Kemple’s ribbon merchant had very much to do with it.”

  Sir John looked at her suspiciously, but declined to discuss the point. “That is neither here nor there, Clarissa. The point is that all these purchases add up. I will not have my estate frittered away with extravagances; it happens all too often these days, and if it happens to us, well, I do not think you would like to blame yourself.” His eyes widened suddenly with a hopeful thought. “I suppose you could return some of these things?”

  Lady Corby drew herself up with offended dignity. “No, Sir John, I could not. But perhaps you could take your new hunter back to Tattersall’s.”

  Her husband’s chest swelled alarmingly as he drew in his breath. His expression of outrage was comical. “Madam, I am shocked that you could suggest such a thing! That horse may well prove to be the finest in my stud. And how you could expect me to get along with less than twelve hunters now that Dolly is gone, I cannot imagine. Do you think I would pay such a price for it if I were not reasonably assured of getting a good few seasons out of it?” Sir John’s frustration with the poor understanding of his wife and daughter was pitiable.

  He picked up his hat and pulled it down firmly on his head. “I am going to my club,” he said loudly, “and I do not expect to be back before dinner. Perhaps there I will find someone who can talk sense.” He marched to the door and after giving them one more offended look over his shoulder, stormed out.

  Sophie had watched this whole scene with a mixture of emotions: surprise that her mother had taken a firm stand against her father’s position; dismay, since the quarrel had been about purchases for her
self; and frustration over the illogic of the argument.

  But as her father walked angrily out the door, she remembered Tony’s smile when he confided to her that he found her father rather amusing. And immediately, the absurdity of her father’s position struck her. The door had barely closed when she began to giggle.

  Lady Corby looked at her in surprise. She had been feeling very ill-used. “Sophia!” she exclaimed.

  Sophie stopped giggling immediately, but with difficulty. “I’m sorry. Mama. It was just that Papa...” She paused, uncertain how to explain. “He was so—absurd!” Her mouth quivered with suppressed laughter.

  Lady Corby regarded her with amazement. “Sophie,” she began, “I am shocked to hear you refer to your father in such...” but she did not finish. The mirth in her daughter’s eyes seemed to affect her strangely. Her posture, which had been stiffly erect throughout the exchange with Sir John, relaxed, her expression softened and she smiled reluctantly.

  “I suppose he is rather ridiculous whenever anything threatens his hunting. I had not thought of it that way,” she admitted. “But he has never overreached his income to pay for it,” she reminded Sophie justly. “We have always been able to count on him for whatever we need and know that the bailiffs will not be at the door. This is the first time I have been resentful of his extravagances in the field. But,” she added firmly, “I will not let him be so extravagant that we cannot present you in the proper style.”

  Some of Sophie’s earlier emotions returned. She sobered instantly. “I am sorry, Mama, if our coming to London will be the cause of any discord between you.”

  Lady Corby patted her hand lovingly, then returned to unpacking their parcels in better cheer. “Never think of it, my dear. Your father will likely find a sympathetic companion at his club, and by the time they have discussed the merits and defects of his recent purchase thoroughly, he will be restored to good humour.”

  Sophie’s anxious frown cleared immediately. She giggled again. “Let’s hope he doesn’t find that he has bought a crammer, or we might get blamed for that, too.”

  Her mother declined to answer, but lifted her eyebrows expressively.

  Fortunately, however, Sir John returned to his home an hour before dinnertime restored to good humour as predicted. He appeared to have forgotten the altercation completely.

  Greeting his wife and daughter in the parlour where he found them, he sat down with an air of satisfaction. “Clarissa, my dear,” he announced. “I have invited a gentleman to dinner. Sophie, you will need to put on one of your prettiest gowns. This fellow merits all the attention you can give him.”

  Lady Corby looked up from her sewing with interest. “What is this, Sir John? A new acquaintance or someone you already know?”

  “Just met him today, my love,” answered her husband. “But took to him right away. He’s just the kind of fellow I’d hoped we’d find for Sophie, though I’d not much hope of it here in London. He’s what you would call a complete hand! A Corinthian! Awake on every suit. Sophie could not do better.”

  Sophie’s spirits sank. She doubted that she and her father would be struck equally by a gentleman’s qualities, so she sought her mother’s aid with a pleading look.

  Lady Corby understood the message. “Let’s not be hasty, Sir John,” said she gently. “We will be delighted to meet him, of course, but since you have just met the gentleman, perhaps we should know more about him before we make any judgement.”

  Sir John’s good humour was not diminished by this lack of confidence. “Oh, we will take our time, naturally. But wait until Sophie sees the fellow. Then she will thank her old father.” He lay back in his chair with a smug expression. Sophie smiled at him weakly.

  An hour later she was making her curtsey before a tall, athletically built young man, and she had to admit that he looked much more promising than she could possibly have believed. He was handsome and polished, well-dressed and well-mannered. As he was introduced, he bent over her hand with an accomplished bow, but he was, she fancied, more impressed with his own performance than with any appearance of hers.

  “My daughter Sophia, Mr. Rollo,” her father was saying. “A fine girl, if I may say so, and out in society just recently.”

  Mr. Rollo bowed again in her direction with just the right touch of admiration in his expression. “Then I count myself fortunate that I should be in Town this season. Indeed, the whole city of London should count itself fortunate,” he added with a little smile at this pleasantry.

  Sophie blushed uncomfortably. She did not know how to respond to this extravagant form of flattery and was not certain that she liked it. But her mother and father both looked pleased, and there was nothing in Mr. Rollo’s manner that could be considered offensive. She smiled prettily and said nothing.

  She need not have feared that her father would embarrass her at the dinner table by extolling her qualities for Mr. Rollo as though she were on the auction block, for Sir John was much more impressed with their guest. He repeated what he had learned about Mr. Rollo that day as they sat over their joint of beef. “A fine sportsman you must be, Rollo, to be a member of the Four-in-Hand Club.” Their guest was gratified.

  “It would be wrong in me to boast, Sir John, but I cannot deny the excellent driving ability of our members. Sir John Lade, of course, has such a reputation with his fine team of matched greys that I need not describe them for you, but the others do quite as well with perhaps not the same style. I feel fortunate to be among them,” he finished modestly.

  Sophie told herself she should be pleased by his modest answer to the question, but somehow she was not struck that way.

  “Have you other interests, Mr. Rollo?” she ventured to ask.

  He regarded her indulgently. “Yes, Miss Corby, I have many, and perhaps you ladies would rather converse on topics other than sport. I can assure you of having more cultivated interests,” he said with a smirk. “For example, I am not a small collector of fine art works. My apartments are amply furnished with both beautiful paintings and noble pieces of craftsmanship. I fancy myself something of a connoisseur in that line. Perhaps you would accompany me one day to the Royal Academy. I would be delighted to show you the galleries and trust that my comments will not be entirely unwelcome instruction.” He looked around the table for a response.

  Lady Corby smiled agreeably. “That sounds delightful.” She glanced at Sophie and finding nothing in her expression to discourage her, accepted the invitation on her daughter’s behalf. A date was fixed, and Sophie was not displeased. As yet, she had seen little of London and an afternoon at the Royal Academy sounded rather grand. She looked on Mr. Rollo more favourably.Their guest continued to impress them with his mastery of the city’s amusements, the opera, the theatre, the assemblies, until dessert was served. Then Sir John, who had been listening patiently with the obvious air of promoting his daughter’s acquaintance with Mr. Rollo, took charge of the conversation again.

  “Rollo,” he said, “I was not able to finish telling you, this afternoon, about the astuteness of our master of hounds, Mr. Bentham, of whom you have heard such reports. I believe that one anecdote will illustrate just what I mean when I say that he is without equal.”

  Mr. Rollo turned to him with interest. Sir John continued. “It was December seventeen of last year, I believe, when we were following the pack at a furious speed. The hounds had outdistanced us when they set off down the steep bank of a stream after the fox, and all of us who were still in the field had to go thirty yards out of the way to find a place to ford. The next fence was a rasper and put us farther behind, but the pack was in full pursuit, and we could hear them sounding. Their perfection showed in their hard running, heads up, tails down. It was fine to behold. (Bentham has never had a hound quit the chase!)

  “Anyway, as I was saying, we heard the cry of the leader. And Bentham, who was keeping pace with me at the time, says, ‘That will be Patch in the lead.’ He spoke with full confidence. I assure you that we were so
far behind the pack that I had to wonder how he could distinguish the cries, but as we caught up to them, Bentham’s huntsman, as fine a man as ever held that position, confirmed it. He had thought it another hound, but Bentham proved to be right!” And to emphasize the astounding nature of his story, Sir John brought his hand down on the table with a loud slap.

  The slap caught Sophie, whose thoughts had drifted, unawares. Her head jerked so forcefully that she was certain their guest must have noticed it, but glancing in his direction, she realized that he had not. He was giving his full attention to her father, and his expression was so rapt with fascination that her heart sank within her. An inner voice cried, “Oh, no.”

  Sir John was still speaking about his master of hounds. “He breeds hard-to-line, of course. Won’t allow bow-legged blood to enter in, even if it means sacrificing strong scenting ability to speed. He has to hang many a pup, but, of course, it’s necessary.”

  “Of course,” agreed Mr. Rollo without a blink.

  “I give him free walking rights over all my own properties. He has not enough to exercise the hounds properly during cubbing season. He don’t let them kill the foxes in cover, mind you, for a seasoned fox is as necessary to the hunt as a seasoned hound, I always say.”

  “I could not agree with you more, Sir John,” said Mr. Rollo. He sighed. “I must say I envy you your county of residence. I have hunted from Melton Mowbray, and it was the greatest pleasure of my life, but it takes means to maintain one’s own stud so far away from one’s home county.”

  “Have you not the income for it, my boy?” asked Sir John sympathetically.

  “Alas, no,” said Mr. Rollo. “Not yet. But do not think my prospects are without hope,” he added, remembering the presence of the ladies. “I am fortunate to have a doting aunt who has the intention of making me her heir. She will be leaving me quite well off, and I have reason to hope she will not last out the year.”