“Yes,” he said. “Probably more than they realised when they set out. I gave the tutor letters of introduction to use for the various embassies where they travel, so they will be included in social functions. They may not have wanted a conventional Grand Tour, but Dr Hawley will arrange for them to have lessons in etiquette, protocol and dancing to ensure they know how to behave in society. If they question it, I suggested he told them that all army officers need to know such things.”
CHAPTER 13
When Sophie was at Bredenbridge, she missed the freedom to gallop across the acres of Linmore parkland. Riding lessons at school hardly qualified for the name, for Miss Pepperslade’s notion was for each class to mount the ponies in the stable yard, and ride in single file along a path behind the groom – never to break into a trot or extend the process for more than half an hour. It was pathetic.
The stables were considered dirty and dangerous places, and no young lady was expected to groom her horse – except Sophie, who rose early to spend an hour in the stables each day before breakfast. Similarly, her riding habit did not conform to the approved demure style. She alone wore black amongst an array of bright fashionable colours, but it was the military style, with divided skirts, that drew censure. She wore it just the same, saying her guardian approved it. Nobody argued with that. Whereas many pupils had wealthy parents, Sophie had a political contact.
As usual, there was a delay in starting, and Sophie knew if it took too long, Miss Pepperslade might curtail the exercise in favour of handwriting practice. That was futile, because she had her own inimitable style.
Tired of waiting, she was debating whether to whisper the gypsy words that would set her horse at a gallop, out of the stable yard and across the park. It would be worth doing penance afterwards, just to be free for half an hour.
Instead, her mind drifted back to the morning lesson of etiquette and protocol, before Miss Pepperslade sent the pupils to change into their riding habits. These topics were all the same to Sophie, with more things she could not do than she could.
It is not seemly for a young lady, to look directly into a gentleman’s face. One must always lower one’s gaze, Miss Pepperslade’s glacial tone decreed.
That was nonsense. Eyes were essential. How else were messages to be conveyed, except with a smouldering glance?
Never grasp his hand in greeting – only extend the tips of one’s fingers… Sophie almost snorted in derision.
You must understand that gentlemen have different desires to ladies, and it is most important not to arouse the beast in them.
That was plain speaking indeed for a maiden lady.
Of course they were different, and Sophie thanked God they were. She almost howled with laughter, wondering how many men Miss Pepperslade had known in the biblical sense. Precious few, she imagined.
One can always judge a gentleman by his mode of dress.
What nonsense. She had known impeccably dressed rakes, and thought the only true test of quality was the way a man sat a horse. In that, Uncle Tom was magnificent. Loyalty to Charlie demanded she set him high on the list, but honesty forced her to admit he would never be Joshua’s equal.
The recollection of him sitting astride his father’s bay gelding, the day before he set off on the Grand Tour with Charlie, deprived her of breath. It was the moment, she realised he was the epitome of everything she desired. Also, she was sure that once he shed the restrictions of his upbringing, he would be very good at being naughty – and she was just the person to teach him.
She closed her eyes, seeking to bring his image to mind… but the sound of tittering females broke into her reverie.
Looking around, she noticed a new girl to the group was having difficulty mounting her pony. When some of the other pupils started to laugh, the disruptive sounds transmitted to the animal. It sidled away, and became more restive with every attempt the groom made to assist the girl to mount.
Sophie’s concern for the animal made her furious.
“Stop that at once,” she ordered, striding forward to grasp the pony’s bridle. “You’re frightening the horse.”
Ignoring the groom, she led the pony aside, whispering a few soothing words in its ear, and offering sugar lumps she kept in her pocket, while Miss Pepperslade looked on aghast. What did she care for a teacher’s opinion?
Within minutes it was calm, so she beckoned to the girl and led the animal to the mounting block.
“Get on the horse,” she said with authority, indicating the correct step on the block. “It’s quite safe now.”
The girl was still too scared to move, so Sophie placed a lump of sugar in the palm of her hand and showed her how to give it to the pony. A look of wonder lit her face when she realised her hand was empty.
“Take no notice of the others,” Sophie said, casting a contemptuous glance over her shoulder, before showing the girl how to hold the reins and place her foot in the stirrup. “They don’t understand horses. If you like, I will show you how I groom it afterwards. That way you gain its trust.”
Within seconds, the girl was in the saddle, arranging her skirt. Sophie gave a low whistle, and her mount came to her side. A quick nod at the teachers and she was ready.
To her, it was a natural thing to help someone learn to ride, but it made her a friend, something she had never sought before. She did not particularly like the other pupils, but if she had to choose one, Annie-Bell, the new girl, was as good as any other.
That was not how other folk pronounced the name, but Sophie made a play on the sound, and the girl accepted it. They were an unlikely pair of friends. Annie-Bell was as fair as Sophie was dark, and quite tall, in a skinny kind of way, whereas Sophie had a towering presence.
It was a revelation to learn this insignificant wisp of a girl had the richest father in the town. The knowledge gave Sophie pause for thought. She learned the rules of etiquette and protocol by rote, but deliberately thwarted the teachers’ attempts to instil discipline. Now she had the incentive to conform.
Life had been happy when her pa was alive. They only lived in a little house, in Dublin, but it was a joyful place when he came home on leave from the army. They did not need much money, for he filled the household with love and laughter when he tossed her in the air, calling her his beautiful girl. Sophie adored him.
It was a sad day when Charlie told her that Pa was not coming home again. That was when they went to live in Blackrock, and when Sophie smelled money for the first time. Charlie went for lessons with the local rector, which left her with little to do, except count on the abacus frame, which Aunt Tilda taught her to use. It did not occupy her for long, so she walked up and down the stairs, looking in all the rooms to inspect the contents of cupboards and drawers. Barleycorn followed everywhere she went, scolding.
One day, finding her uncle’s study door unlocked, Sophie hid in there, but just when she decided to leave, Uncle Lucius entered the room, and took a locked box from a cupboard. She was enthralled, watching him stacking up piles of coins, setting them aside and moving on to bundles of paper, which he unrolled and counted before replacing them in the box. Her hands itched to reach out to touch, but the intensity of his expression made her stop. For quite ten minutes, he sat at the desk breathing in the scent on his hands. Beads of sweat lay on his brow, making him look almost feverish…or was it excitement? Whatever it was made her curious to know more.
It was the first time she did not tell Charlie what she had done. If she had, he might have understood the upset caused when Barleycorn, the housekeeper, caught her in the study, sitting on the floor surrounded by coins and piles of bank notes, sniffing the scent on her fingers. She was not stealing the money. It was simply a misunderstanding, and no reason for Uncle Lucius to send her to the convent in the next village to do penance. What was worse, they did not let her see Charlie before she left.
The nuns said the same prayers as Barleycorn, and tried to force Sophie to chant the words, but she knew what was right and use
d her own version. Then they beat her with sticks, and she climbed over the garden wall, and ran away to visit the gypsies in the hills. Each time the nuns found her, she ran away again. The last time it happened, they sent her home, and then Uncle Tom came to take her and Charlie to Linmore. He was wonderful, for he gave her a pony.
“Welcome to our little home, Miss Cobarne. I hope you enjoy your stay with us,” said Annie’s father on her arrival.
Sophie felt almost drunk with elation as she walked through the grand entrance, into a marble reception hall with an intricately painted high domed ceiling. The moment she climbed into the luxury coach that conveyed her to her friend’s home, it had been like stepping into a different world, leaving the ordinary folk outside.
Glossy black paint trimmed with gold on the outside, but the interior covering on the thick padded seats and squabs was in burgundy velvet, a rich colour that reflected the comfort expected by its owner. Discreet half-drawn blinds enabled them to view their surroundings whilst ensuring their privacy was preserved.
The “little home” description Annie’s father had given was inapt, for whatever Fallowfield Court might be, it was not small. Sophie had never seen a greater contrast between the quiet country elegance of Linmore Hall and the almost vulgar opulence of the mansion. Everything was designed to impress, from the crystal chandeliers and the abundance of gilt-edged furniture. Tables inlaid with ivory and display cabinets filled to the brim with ornaments. Chairs and sofas with ornate frames, covered in vibrant red stripes and dazzling shades of blue satin. Swathes of swirling fabric framed the long sash windows, with seemingly acres of deep carpet underfoot. It quite took her breath away.
“Oh my goodness,” she gasped. “It’s absolutely amazing.”
The man looked pleased by her praise. “It wasn’t always so, young lady,” he said in a blunt voice. “Onnybrook House was almost a ruin when I took it in hand, and it cost me a pretty penny to set it as you see it today, what with one thing and another.”
Sophie noticed the name he used was different to the one on the brass plate outside the door, but she waited until the introductions were over and her friend’s father left the room before asking for an explanation.
“I thought this was Fallowfield Court.”
“It is now,” said Annie. “The other name relates to when Grandfather Onnybrook lived here. This was my mother’s childhood home, but when her brother died, Grandfather had no other son to leave the business to, or the house where the family lived for generations. I’m afraid he let everything deteriorate.”
“I see,” said Sophie, not seeing things at all.
Annie cast a nervous glance around, before saying in a lowered voice, “I think Papa used to work in the foundry, but when my parents met and fell in love, Grandfather wanted him to change his name, but he refused. That is why we lived in a smaller house on the edge of town. I do not understand how Papa made the business profitable again, but when the old gentleman died, he employed an army of builders to restore this house, and when it was finished, he changed the name. It’s rather sad, because only the foundry still has the Onnybrook name, and I much preferred it.”
Thinking about the brash manner that Annie’s father exhibited, Sophie was sure his love of money came first. Despite his expensive clothes, it was obvious he was not a gentleman like Uncle Tom. He was hard-faced and grasping, with a vanity the size of a mountain. He was everything Uncle Lucius Cobarne was not, except in the way his eyes shone when he talked of money.
This man had no need of false modesty, for his iron foundry processed the raw materials for the munitions the British army used in Europe, India and the Americas. It was a very profitable occupation.
Until she met him, Sophie did not know iron was newsworthy, but neither did the haughty pupils at Miss Pepperslade’s Seminary – and she was not going to tell them, for fear they might usurp her position as his daughter’s friend. It was her secret.
By contrast, Annie’s mother was a gentle soul. Quiet and dignified, yet terrified of expressing an opinion, for fear of arousing her husband’s ire. She was so fragile that she hid in bed to avoid annoying her husband. Sophie scorned the use of smelling salts, but she was fascinated by the silver vinaigrette boxes Annie’s mother collected. Not for the pungent vapours they contained, but the intricate designs kept in a showcase like snuffboxes.
One visit to her friend’s home was enough to give her a taste for a life of luxury. To achieve this, Sophie knew she would have to adopt a new stratagem. Whilst being naughty alleviated her boredom, she now had to be an exemplary character.
She went back to school feeling bemused by all she had seen, and ready to fill sheets of notepaper, telling Charlie of her adventures, which she had Uncle Tom’s permission to send to Linmore for further dispatch.
Without saying how it came about, she wrote to tell him that Annie’s home was like a palace, with dozens of uniformed servants to attend her every whim – even if she needed anything in the middle of the night. Her bedroom was perfect, as was the dressing room, and the screened, marble tiled alcove with a bath.
The first evening of her visit, she wandered round the room touching the plump downy mattress on the bed, two fluffy pillows and a coverlet of purple silk, and wished Charlie were here to see it. From there, another thought came to mind, which she added to her letter. I wish you could meet Annie. I am sure you would like her.
Having planted the seed, the idea came to fruition. Of course, Charlie would like Annie, and she, Sophie, would pave the way for them to meet.
If the first weekend visit enthralled her, the second and subsequent ones confirmed it was the best thing that had ever happened in her life. Thank goodness, Uncle Tom gave his consent. Not that he refused her much, even when Aunt Jane was there.
Some nights, curiosity kept her awake. Sophie waited until the last of the servants was asleep, before slipping from her bed to walk through the corridors, clad in her new silk wrapper, and revel in the atmosphere of affluence. A task aided by the plethora of candles in wall sconces, which burned throughout the night; she vowed one day, to have a home where cost was no object.
She had discovered that if the master of the house wished to visit his study, a footman sat on a chair outside, ready to open the door – and there the pretty boy was, exactly where he should be. Each night she approached on tiptoe, and heard the soft purr of a snore, but even if the minion awoke and saw her, he would never betray her, for he had too much to lose.
A sliver of light showed beneath the study door, just as it did the night before, but she could not risk opening it. Seconds later, the ormolu clock in the hallway struck three. Sophie heard the faint scrape of a key in a lock and melted into the shadows, as a shadowy figure came through the outer door at the far end of the corridor.
The servant was on his feet in seconds, ready to reach for the door handle, which confirmed that Annie’s father came home at the same time every night. Most likely he had been to visit his mistress, a woman who would be treated better than his poor dab of a wife. Maybe, with a little encouragement, Sophie could persuade him to shower gifts on her. He could well afford it.
With each visit, there was more of the house to admire, and yet the only part she really wanted to see was a disappointment. When she visited the stables, she found a selection of horses suited to draw the carriages stored in the coach house, but not a single decent horse for riding. What a let down.
It made her restive. Sophie knew if she ever had real money to spend, the minimum requirement for her stables would be a pair of perfectly matched thoroughbreds for a high-perch phaeton, and a big black gelding for hunting.
There were compensations, for Annie, her mother and younger sisters much preferred shopping in the town, and Sophie found herself the proud possessor of new clothes, a hat or pieces of jewellery, the like of which she had never seen. Although Uncle Tom gave her an allowance, while staying with Annie, she did not need to spend it from one month to the next, so she hid
it away.
It quite amazed her that everyone in the household gave her presents. Annie’s mother, her twin sisters, Eliza and Amelia, and the younger sister in the nursery, whose name she forgot. It seemed so natural, and yet Sophie sensed her visits were unusual.
“How many of your other friends come from school?” she asked out of curiosity.
“There’s no one else. You are the exception, because Papa does not mix with other parents, or encourage me to have school friends,” Annie said, looking embarrassed. “I’m glad you are at school with me, Sophie. It is not easy, having people say my father was made Chairman of the Board of Governors, because he invested money in the school.”
Being a confidante was a new experience. While Annie’s father was not a popular man in Bredenbridge, she had little doubt he would know exactly who Uncle Tom was. That, she suspected, was why she was accepted.
Sometimes, Annie’s adoration became tedious, but it served Sophie’s purpose.
“Oh, my,” she said, espying a pretty trinket, and reaching out her hand to touch. “May I look at it? It is so pretty.”
She did it to test the response, and it was always the same. Her friend would give her anything, and she quickly learned to handle Annie’s pa, noting his roving eye and wandering hands with the housemaids, and playing to his vanity.
To amuse herself, she insisted his side-whiskers were exactly like those her pa had. They were nothing of the kind, but her words pleased him and he was willing to let her stroke them. After that, whenever she expressed a liking for some expensive little trifle, in his hearing, it became her own – and in thanks, she kissed him on the cheek and declared he was the kindest papa in the world, while his family looked on and smiled.
Although she found living with females a bore, it suited her purpose to stay there, until Charlie returned with Joshua. Once he was home, she would contrive to have him meet Annie and her family. That sorted the first part of her plan, after which, she would consider her next course of action – which involved Joshua.
Brothers at Arms Page 15