by Lily George
He nodded and opened the massive oaken door. Her experience with faith was not much different from his. After all, his conversion happened on the battlefield, not because of any experience he had growing up in his family’s parish. “I come here for worship every Sunday. If you like, you may join me. Reverend Stephens is a gifted speaker. I daresay there are few who can phrase the Bible in such clear and understandable terms.”
She smiled politely. “Thank you.”
That brief response, and the brief, circumspect smile that came with it, gave one the feeling of being rebuffed. Or at least brushed off. He set his jaw. They were here on a mere business arrangement, nothing more.
As they entered the narthex, the cacophony of male and female voices, both young and old, bounced off the walls and the high-pitched ceiling. He spied Reverend Stephens with the veterans, gathered near the altar, while the women and children sat farther back in the pews. “Come, I’ll introduce you,” he said, hurrying her up the aisle toward the altar.
“Reverend,” he called as they drew near. “Gentlemen, I have a new representative here with me.”
Reverend Stephens motioned for silence and gave a friendly smile to Sophie. “So I see,” he responded gently. “Welcome, my child.”
Sophie curtsied. “Thank you, Reverend.”
Charlie grasped her shoulders and turned her slightly so she was facing the group of veterans. A larger group than usual today—nearly fifteen men. The good weather must have made it possible for more to come.
“Gentlemen, ladies, Reverend Stephens,” he called, making sure his voice carried to the back of the church. “With me today is Miss Sophie Handley, newly arrived in Bath. Miss Handley is the younger sister of Mrs. Harriet Brookes, whose book about Waterloo is making a sensation across England.”
The crowd applauded politely, and several women leaned forward as if to hear him better.
“As you may know, Mrs. Brookes has donated the proceeds of the sale of her book to our group.”
Many people gasped, turning awe-stricken faces to his. Well, this was the first time he’d made the announcement publicly. And it was a very generous thing Harriet had done. The looks on their faces made him break into a grin. How they would put that money to good use.
“Miss Handley is working for Lord Bradbury in town, but has agreed to be her sister’s representative here in Bath. Anything that we want to do as a group, Miss Handley will work to make sure it can happen. Please think of her as you do me—as a friend, a confidante and a colleague.” He turned his grin to Sophie, who was looking up at him with wide blue eyes. “I trust her. And I know that, together, our veterans’ group can make a real difference in everyone’s lives.”
The group erupted in applause, several of the men whistling and stamping their feet. Sophie blushed prettily and bobbed a little curtsy before the crowd. He nodded at her, as if to say, “Go on, say something,” but her rosy color deepened and she shook her curls quickly.
He shrugged. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he replied in an undertone. “But I must get started working with the men. Do you want to talk to the women and children?”
“Yes, of course.” She moved to the back of the sanctuary, and disappeared as the veterans began to swarm around Charlie, talking about Harriet’s generous donation and how they should use the funds.
He spoke with the men for a good hour without taking a break. There was a private who had a wife and a small baby, but he had been blinded and couldn’t earn an income. How were they to survive? And then a smaller group of veterans with missing limbs, who complained that the colder-than-average spring was making it difficult to move about. For the blind veteran, Charlie withdrew a stipend of fifty pounds, all he could afford until Harriet’s money began trickling in. And for the others, they came up with a schedule of therapy involving taking the waters on a twice-weekly basis.
He spent most of his time with a young ensign, the former scion of a wealthy family, who had braved the battlefield at a very early age, and become mute from the experience. The lad could write down a few words, and Charlie could scratch out words on foolscap, though it was hard to hold down the page with his prosthesis so he could write fluently with his right hand. From their exchange, he was able to ascertain that the lad needed help—regular conversation, even if he just listened as someone else spoke. But whom, and when? Ah, that was the problem. He would find some way to help Rowland, but it might take time.
When he finally had a moment’s pause, he looked anxiously down the pews to see how Sophie was faring. He hadn’t meant to leave her alone for so long. Was she beside herself with nervousness and anxiety? No, quite the contrary. She was sitting in the back of the sanctuary on the floor, with two children in her lap. A group of widows were gathered around her, talking quietly. Sophie was listening intently, replying with a soft word here or a nod there. Her spencer was long gone, as was her bonnet, both strewn across a pew with abandon. As he watched the tableau, a child reached up and touched one of her bobbing curls, which made her laugh.
His heart pounded gratefully. She seemed to be coming along very well. In fact, she seemed to have already won the trust of those widows—women who’d barely spoken two words to him before, who kept their eyes cast down and their lips compressed in thin lines when he asked how he could help them. She was going to be an extraordinary asset.
As the church bell tolled the lunch hour, the group began to drift apart. After shaking hands with a few of the departing veterans, and after expressing his thanks to the reverend, Charlie started up the aisle to retrieve Sophie.
She smiled as he helped her back into her spencer, and bent to kiss one of the little girls on the cheek as she left. Then she tied on her bonnet and took his arm decisively. He sucked in his breath a little at the feeling of Sophie next to him. She had such vibrancy, such life about her. His existence, so gray and dull until he met her, now pulsed with color. She would assuredly make a man very happy someday.
She exhaled sharply, blowing out a puff of air as they left the church, turning her head up to the sky.
“Are you tired? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long,” he apologized.
“Not at all. I think I got on very well with many of the women. And the children were darlings,” she replied, grasping the crook of his elbow more firmly as he led her down the steps. “I think the women need money,” she added in an undertone. “Many have no means of income, and several have children to care for. Without a steady flow of money, some of them have been reduced—or nearly so—to rather desperate circumstances.”
Just as he suspected. He stopped, turning to face her. “You will help me, then? These women, they respond to you. Together, we can help keep them from turning to occupations that are beneath them.”
She gazed deeply into his eyes. “Of course I will help you, Lieutenant. Did I not already promise to?”
“Yes, you did. I just wondered if, once you saw how things were—”
“That I would gather up my skirts and flee in horror?” She gave a modest chuckle. “Surely I am better than that.”
He couldn’t bear the challenge in those blue eyes any longer. He directed their steps back toward the street. “I do need your help with one other matter. There’s a young ensign, named Rowland, who is mute. I think conversation—even just listening to someone read aloud from a book—could help him. Do you think you can help me find someone willing to take that on?”
Sophie smiled, her dimples deepening. “I know just the perfect person, Lieutenant.”
Chapter Five
Thank goodness she had gotten an advance on her salary. Sophie sat, cradling her teacup in her hands, observing the hustle and bustle as shoppers filed in and out of Molland’s. She needed a fortifying meal and a few moments’ peace after her chaotic morning. Even though she feigned courage for the lieutenant, her emotions were deeply shaken. She picked up her watercress sandwich with shaking hands and savored one deliciou
s bite.
Her entire family had been cast into poverty when Papa died. But Sophie never realized how very dreadful poverty could be. Of course, it meant making over Mama’s old court dresses rather than enjoying new frocks. And it meant eating potatoes every day rather than having chicken for dinner. And yet, even though they left their ancestral home in disgrace and eked out a meager existence in a cottage, the idea of desperation had never crossed her mind. Why, she had even rejected Captain John Brookes because she no longer loved him after the war.
Love! What nonsense.
Sophie dropped her sandwich and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. What a selfish ninny she had been. The only thing that separated her from the widows she met this morning—women who were facing such straitened circumstances that prostitution suddenly seemed a viable option—was the fact that her industrious sister had kept her from feeling desperate. True, they had discussed taking on jobs in the village. But really, it was Harriet’s own demeanor—her insistence on writing a book, her persistence in having it published—that had kept the wolf from the Handley cottage door. And because of her sister’s cheerful toiling, she never felt as desperate or as poor as the women she met today.
She tried another bite of her sandwich, but really, it tasted like ashes in her mouth.
The only thing to do is resolve never to be a burden on one’s family again. After all, she had gainful employment for the foreseeable future. She would simply have to work hard, save up money and open a dress shop of her own one day. She would never have to worry about Harriet or poverty again.
“Penny for your thoughts?” a cheerful voice interrupted. “Sophie? Are you all right?”
Sophie gave a shake of her head, ridding herself of her reverie. “Lucy.” She patted the table and beckoned her friend to sit down. “Thank goodness you are here.”
“Did you have a bad morning? How did your visit to the veterans go?” Lucy sat across from her and placed her reticule on the table. “Tea and sandwiches, if you please,” she told the waitress with a smile.
“Oh, the meeting went well.” Sophie took a sip of her tea. “But really, Lucy. I had no idea how very badly off some of the women are.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Some of them even consider...selling themselves.”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, I know. I can’t say I blame them. After all, a woman must do what she can to survive.”
Her response was like a slap in the face. Sophie sat back in her chair, her eyes wide. “Surely you don’t condone it.”
“No, I wouldn’t say I condone it.” Lucy accepted her tea from the waitress and nodded her thanks. “I would just say that I can understand it. You see, Sophie, I am an orphan. I grew up in an orphanage. Fortunately for me, I have brains and was able to develop them even in that environment. I was able to become a governess. Some of my friends were not so fortunate.”
Really, this was astonishing. It was like turning over a pretty, smooth rock in a field and seeing the worms squirming underneath. “But really, Lucy. My family lost everything and I never felt that kind of desperation. Maybe my sister hid it from me. I even turned down two marriage proposals.”
Lucy spluttered and choked on her tea. “Beg pardon?” she coughed, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. The waitress returned with a small china plate of sandwiches.
Sophie waited until the waitress left before picking up the thread of conversation.
“Yes, it’s true. I turned down Captain John Brookes and another redcoat—James Marable.” It was embarrassing to admit it now. Especially as Lucy sat staring at her, looking at her as though she had just sprouted horns on the top of her head.
“Why?” Lucy took a careful sip of her tea, continuing to eye Sophie over the rim of her cup.
“Because I did not love them.” Why did it feel like an admission of guilt? After all, Harriet had promised her long ago that she did not have to marry anyone she did not love. Even after Mama died and Sophie was riddled with guilt and sorrow, Harriet promised her she had made the right choice.
Lucy set down her cup with a clink. “Well, then, I must say yes. It sounds to me that your sister did protect you. I envy you your freedom, Sophie. Most young women in dire poverty would marry anyone without delay. No picking and choosing allowed.”
“And that’s why I am seeking my own fortune.” Sophie lifted her chin in the air. It wasn’t as if she was lolling about in bed all day, eating bonbons. She worked very hard for Lord Bradbury and his daughters. And she was building a future for herself until she could strike out on her own and become a modiste with a proper shop.
“And so you are.” Lucy reached out and clasped Sophie’s hand warmly. “But listen, Sophie. Not everyone’s experience is akin to yours. We do not all have the same background, breeding or talent to make something of ourselves. And to be perfectly honest, not all of us are as pretty as you.” She released Sophie’s hand. “You mustn’t judge other women for what they may choose to do to survive.”
“I don’t,” Sophie protested. “I am just stunned, that’s all. In our days of poverty, I never had to consider such a thing. And it both addles me and humbles me to know that others do. I never knew how hard my sister worked as a writer to save my family until this moment.”
A sympathetic light kindled in Lucy’s eyes, easing some of the turmoil in Sophie’s heart. Lucy wasn’t dismayed by her refusal to marry. And for that she was grateful.
Lucy tapped the table with her forefinger for emphasis as she spoke again. “So now that you have this position, what do you wish to do with the rest of your life?”
“I wish for peace and freedom.” Why, she could even feel it—the sensation of being lifted up on wings. Not relying on anyone. Making her own way in the world. “I should like to have my own dress shop someday. When Amelia and Louisa no longer need my services.”
“And what of marriage? If another proposal came your way, what would you say?” Lucy cocked her head to one side.
“I do not know.” An image of brown eyes in a stern face flashed before her mind’s eye. Charlie Cantrill. If Charlie asked her, what would she say? And why was she thinking of him, anyway? Theirs was a mere business relationship. “It would depend upon the gentleman, and my own feelings in the matter.”
“Ah, c’est bon.” Lucy stirred her teacup meditatively. She fell silent, brooding over the steaming brew.
Sophie regarded her carefully. Lucy seemed so lively, so independent, and yet she had no family. Other than her charges and the other servants, she had no one to speak to, to care for. Her existence must be so lonely. She needed to find others to share her life with. Perhaps reading to Ensign Rowland would allow her to branch out, and forge connections with others.
“Lucy, you’re so clever.” Best to start with flattery. Everyone loved a nice compliment. “There’s someone who needs your help. Lieutenant Cantrill mentioned an ensign who is mute. Would you come to the veterans’ group with me and read to him? The lieutenant thinks it would be a great help to the young man, and I would love to have your company there.”
Lucy looked up, her blue eyes wide with astonishment. “Really? You think it would be a help?”
Sophie offered her most appealing smile. Her plan was already starting to work. Maybe Lucy could find her happily ever after, even if Sophie’s seemed remote. “Dear Lucy, I think it would be a tremendous help. For everyone.”
* * *
Charlie accepted the teacup from Aunt Katherine’s extended hand. “Thank you, Auntie.” He couldn’t help but call her Aunt. Everyone did. In reality, she was John Brookes’s aunt—but in practice, she was aunt to them all.
“And so, Charlie,” she asked, amusement evident in her tone, “how did Sophie fare on her first day?”
He settled back in his chair, breathing deeply of the scents of oolong and leather. Aunt Katherine’s home always made him feel at peace. She managed to live a life of simple luxury, one that made him comfortable without causing guilt. After al
l, so many people had so little.
“She did quite well, Aunt Katherine. I believe that she will be a tremendous help to my cause. Some of the women took to her immediately—she got their confidence in mere moments, whereas I had been working for weeks.”
Aunt Katherine nodded, her wrinkled features softening into a smile. “Good, I am glad to hear it. You know, I was none too fond of Miss Sophie after she broke her understanding with John. He is my nephew and I feel he is a rare gem. On the other hand, matters worked out right. John and Harriet are together, and a better match you’ll never find.”
He nodded. Everything had worked out for the best, for everyone. “So you are not bitter, Aunt Katherine?”
She laughed, tilting her head back. “Not at all, I assure you. In fact, I am inclined to like Sophie more and more. She is, perhaps, the more spoiled of the two lasses, but she is showing a willingness to work on her own and gain independence that is most pleasing.”
Charlie smiled. It was easy to misjudge Sophie. She was so pretty and so vibrant that it was not at all difficult to think of her as a flibbertigibbet, passing over her strength of character. “I think so, too.”
“Do you?” The faded old eyes regarded him sharply, as though Aunt Katherine were studying him through a lorgnette. The close regard caused a wriggle of unease to work up his spine.
“Yes.” Would Auntie stop regarding him in that fashion? He felt like an insect under a spying glass.
“And what of Elizabeth Gaskell? Do you ever hear of your former fiancée at all?”
The sudden shift in conversation threw Charlie off guard. Like a good soldier, he eyed the terrain warily. What did this abrupt change signify? Why was she bringing up Beth, right on the heels of their discussion about Sophie?
“What I know of Beth I read in The Tatler.” His words were clipped and precise. Beth’s downward spiral into licentious behavior was a constant source of amusement for Bath—and embarrassment for her former fiancé. He did not like to talk about it with anyone. Not even Auntie.