The Secrets of Sophia Musgrove

by Janey Louise Jones

  'She is expecting a baby!' I declared proudly.

  'How very exciting. Please convey my best wishes to her, Miss Musgrove. She is a very fine lady.'

  'Yes, she is, and thank you, I will do so in my next note to her,' I replied.

  'When did you become interested in social problems, Miss Musgrove?' he asked, after ordering us all vanilla coffee creams and walnut cake.

  'Just lately. In fact, I have been invited to go on a march next month, which I am considering,' I told him. I suspected that he would disapprove, but I felt the need to assert my independence. It was as if he represented the same type of man as my father. In my view, they both held frustratingly traditional views, thinking that women needed to be protected from the outside world and were unable to make their own decisions – so different from my forward-thinking Marcus Stevens.

  But Mrs Willow's face was turning purple. 'Her father is much against this phase,' she chipped in.

  'It is not a phase, Mrs Willow. It is my new life,' I informed her.

  'Miss Musgrove, it is commendable to have such a fine conscience,' said Mr Hughes. 'You are a credit to your family. But please believe me when I say that I have some experience in the area of activism. My mother and sister have campaigned against poverty for many years, and they have been ill-used by some of the people you might mix with on a march. They have been placed in danger and their money has been appropriated for illegal purposes. I would beg of you not to attend this or any other such event.'

  'It is very kind of you to give me your advice, Mr Hughes,' I said haughtily, 'but I will make my own decisions, thank you.' I was becoming annoyed with the way everyone was trying to influence me these days: my father, Lord Sandford, and now Mr Hughes. Marcus was the one person who actually seemed to respect my real self and I felt lucky to have met him.

  Mr Hughes looked amused by my frosty manner. 'Perhaps I might call upon you to see how you fare in the world of politics?' he said, with a slightly mocking smile.

  'Or perhaps not!' I snapped. 'Come, Mrs Willow, let us see if there is any word of Mama in the mail at home! Thank you for the coffee and cake, Mr Hughes, it was most refreshing.'

  He stood up awkwardly as I rose, and I heard him say, 'Do remember me to your mother, Miss Musgrove . . .' as I swept out of the coffee house.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mrs Willow was most put out by our speedy departure – she had not quite finished her walnut cake. Besides, she was furious with me for behaving in such a high-handed manner with such an eligible young man. 'Goodness me, Sophie, we're meant to be cultivating good relations with men such as Mr Hughes, not quarrelling with them!' she declared as we took tea together at home later on.

  I ignored her. Even Lily had been interfering. She'd told me that Mr Hughes was lovely and that she'd stand on her head to have him look at her just once.

  I had laughed. 'Lily, he's actually quite dull – not at all outrageous or daring!'

  'Whoever wants "daring" in a husband, miss?' she'd asked, then piped down when she saw the icy look on my face.

  I was not prepared for the stormy air at dinner. My father had been 'reliably informed' that I had been at the Palace of Westminster – 'eavesdropping', as he put it, on the debate. He was almost as furious with poor Mrs Willow as he was with me. To her credit, Mrs Willow never blamed me in these situations, but took all responsibility, which I could not allow.

  'Papa, it was all my idea, I assure you. Do not blame Mrs Willow. I am interested in politics, and especially in the slave trade. It is too cruel. I can hardly bear to think of what is happening just a couple of miles from where we sit. I wish you involved me more in your work. I am curious,' I explained.

  'Well, you shall contain your curiosity. You shall not come back to Westminster and you shall end this ridiculous preoccupation at once!' raged my papa. 'You are disgracing the family. Our forefathers worked hard so that we might enjoy certain privileges, and we must honour the Musgrove family name.'

  'And might I ask, Papa, who told you of our presence in the Chamber?' I enquired with icy calm.

  'It was a very kind and decent young man who is worried for your safety – Mr Hughes. And a finer young gentleman you could not hope to find,' my father snapped.

  So Mr Hughes had been telling tales on me. I almost choked with anger. In a fit of indignation after dinner, I dashed off a note to Marcus, agreeing to go on the march with him. Then I settled down with Dinky to read my scribbled notes from the meeting I had attended.

  Slaves are brought to Britain by sea, the ships often docking at the East India Docks . . . The African Lady pretends to be a spice and coffee cargo vessel but has a hidden hold for slaves in the lower decks. She is due at the East India Docks on June 17th.

  All of a sudden I had an idea. I decided to write to Lucy as well.

  8th June 1803

  Musgrove House

  Dear Lucy,

  How are you? All well with Mr A? Are you going to the Devonshires' salon party on Thursday 17th June? If so, perhaps you and Lady Lennox would care to stay here for the night afterwards, as we are so much closer to the Devonshires' townhouse? You see, I need your help with a mission I am planning after dark. I will tell all when I see you. Please let me know if you can help.

  Your loving friend,

  Sophie

  xxx

  I received a letter of agreement from Lucy the very next day, and carefully planned a midnight outing to the docks. It would not be an easy task, but I wanted to know if all that I had heard about the terrible conditions in which the slaves were kept was true – and this was the only way to do it. But how would we get there, and what if we were recognized?

  It became clear to me that a disguise would be essential. I immediately thought of borrowing some garments from Lily so that Lucy and I would look as if we were in service. I asked her if I could borrow two sets of clothes.

  'What for, Miss Sophie?' she asked.

  'I'm afraid I can't say. I'm sorry to be so vague, but trust me, Lily, it is for a good purpose.'

  Lily looked concerned but agreed to bring me what I wanted, so with the clothes sorted out I turned my attention to transport. Sid had more or less agreed to take me out on another mission, but I felt guilty about it. If he were caught, I knew he would be sacked and might not get another job without a reference, but the thought of taking an anonymous hackney to the docklands was scary. I had heard tales of girls being attacked by the drivers. There was no way round it: I would have to approach Sid.

  On the following Thursday evening I hid everything we would need in the bottom of my wardrobe and set off for the Devonshires' house with Mrs Willow. The evening was a bit of a bore, with a poetry reading and a musical recital. It might have been enjoyable in normal circumstances, but Lucy and I were bursting to get back. I was dying to carry out my plan and Lucy was itching to hear about it.

  As soon as the evening's entertainment was over and Lucy and I were alone in my bedroom, I told her of my plan. I explained that I needed to be informed for the march I was taking part in – and so I wanted to sneak on board a slave ship at the docks!

  'Sophia! That sounds incredibly dangerous!' Lucy gasped. 'What if we are caught? We might be thrown in one of those horrid gaols I have heard of where people eat rats and drink rainwater!'

  'Don't worry, Lucy. We will only have a look and we'll only go on board if no one is watching,' I promised.

  'Well . . .' said Lucy thoughtfully. For a moment she looked bewildered, but then she smiled. 'Marches? Midnight missions? Mr Stevens? Are you sure this is the same Sophia Musgrove?' she asked.

  'No, this is the new Sophia Musgrove!' I told her.

  'I see,' she laughed. 'Well then, East India Docks, here we come!' and she started to change into Lily's dowdy working clothes.

  Just as we had finished getting ourselves ready, we heard Mrs Willow and Lady Lennox saying goodnight in the hallway. Then the handle of my bedroom door began to turn and I realized that Mrs Willow was comin
g in to say goodnight to me as she sometimes did.

  'Hide!' I whispered to Lucy, and she dived hurriedly under the bed as I jumped under my counterpane and pulled it up to my neck.

  'Goodnight, Sophie, dear,' said Mrs Willow, coming over to sit on the edge of my bed. 'Wasn't that a pleasant evening? Much more the sort of thing that you should concentrate on. And I heard from another of the chaperones that Mr Hughes is quite taken with you, Sophie. He talks of you often, apparently!' She chatted on like this for several moments. She is always rather talkative after an evening out and usually I am happy to chat, but tonight was different . . .

  'I'm awfully tired, Mrs Willow,' I said sleepily. 'Shall we talk about the salon after breakfast?'

  'Yes, of course. Sleep well, dear,' she replied. 'Remember your prayers, especially for your mama.' I prayed for my mother several times a day, so she had no need to remind me.

  When she was gone, Lucy wriggled out from under the bed and we sighed with relief.

  'Sid will be waiting in the back courtyard by now,' I told her. 'He muffles the horses' hooves with felt covers so that the servants don't hear us leave, and he covers the family crest on the coach with black fabric too, in case anyone should recognize it!'

  'I say, this is really naughty, isn't it, Sophie? Have you done this before?' Lucy asked.

  'Just once,' I whispered as we made our way down the back stairs of the townhouse.

  'You're playing with fire!' Lucy exclaimed quietly. 'I like it,' she added. Then we caught sight of ourselves in the servants' mirror by the back door and gasped at how plain we looked.

  'Gosh, not so pretty in these frumpy clothes, are we?' Lucy hissed.

  I shook my head. 'Poor Lily, having to wear them all the time,' I sighed. And then we slipped out of the house and into the waiting carriage.

  It took more than twenty minutes to reach the docks, and as we drew up I saw that we were going to have to explain ourselves to the watchman on the gate.

  'Can you wait for us here, please, Sid?' I asked as we jumped down from the carriage.

  'All right, miss,' Sid replied reluctantly. 'But this is no place for ladies such as yourselves. There'll be all sorts of trouble behind those gates. Mind how you go, the two of you, and hurry back!'

  'What shall we say?' asked Lucy as we saw the gateman looking at us.

  'Let's say our brother is on board a ship and we have urgent news for him,' I suggested.

  'Good idea! Leave it to me. I have a good Cockney accent,' said Lucy, walking briskly towards the gate. 'And I've been dying to use it!'

  Lucy was brilliant, mimicking the accent of her maid, Daisy, perfectly while I struggled not to laugh. Soon we were ushered through the huge wrought-iron gates.

  'You should be on the stage, Lucy Pennington!' I observed.

  'That would be the best fun. Can you imagine?' Lucy chirped. 'But Mr Archer would never approve. He's the respectable sort.'

  I didn't respond to that since I had grave doubts about the respectability of Mr Archer. However, I had no proof and I was still determined not to worry Lucy on the basis of unfounded gossip.

  Besides, there were other things to think about . . .

  The first thing I noticed was the strong smell that filled the air – a mixture of engine oil, alcohol and salt water. Happily this noxious combination was somewhat masked by the sweeter scents of cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg coming from the spice ships. We picked our way through coils of rope, old pieces of timber and general debris that lay about the place.

  There were people everywhere. Sometimes they seemed to be quarrelling, but then they would erupt into raucous laughter. Dockers, sailors and soldiers bustled to and fro, some on business, some clearly enjoying their shore leave a little too much as they lurched drunkenly along the dock.

  There was filth and squalor everywhere we looked, but there was a merriment to the place too, with sailors singing sea shanties outside the taverns, and dockers working busily to load food or unload cargo from the ships.

  We made our way towards a large ship that seemed to be in the process of berthing. Sailors were still high up in the rigging, adjusting the ropes and sails. I recognized the name on the side – the African Lady – and my heart pounded with excitement. I was immediately reminded of my mission – to see for myself the conditions of slaves on board the ships. Then, at last, I would know the truth of what I'd heard – and be able to look the other activists in the eye, and contribute meaningfully to their discussions.

  'This is the one, Lucy,' I whispered. 'Let's slip on board when the crew disembarks. We can hide down here and wait,' I added, spotting some netting which would form a handy screen through which we could watch proceedings.

  'I'm not going on board if we might be caught,' Lucy said firmly. 'I couldn't bear to be kept here. It reeks of sweat and sewage!'

  'I know. Don't worry,' I reassured her. 'We won't venture onto the ship until we're sure it's safe. I just hope the crew will leave soon. Then we will see with our own eyes how these slaves are being treated.'

  Lucy bit her lip nervously. 'Oh, Sophie, what if we don't get off alive? Who will know that we have perished on the African Lady ? I don't think we should go on board at all. Please don't go!' she begged.

  'If you can't face it, just wait for me here,' I said. 'You have already proved yourself the most loyal of friends. But I must take this chance to see the truth for myself.'

  However, Lucy shook her head at that. 'No! I will not let you go alone,' she said. 'If you go, I go!'

  We watched and waited. And the waiting was awful. I was afraid I might lose my nerve if we couldn't make our move soon.

  Once the ship was safely tied alongside the dock, a few sailors came ashore, followed eventually by a man who looked as if he could be the captain. Meanwhile, a crowd of people – men and women – gathered alongside the ship, ready to help carry the heavy crates to shore. I remembered that the African Lady supposedly carried only coffee and spices – the slaves were kept in a hidden hold.

  As we watched the hustle and bustle from our hiding place, it occurred to me that all the activity might provide our best opportunity to board the ship. Who would notice two more people amongst so many?

  'Now's our chance,' I whispered to Lucy. 'We will simply mingle with the crowd. Nobody will notice us, especially dressed as we are.'

  Lucy nodded and we seized the moment, emerging from our hiding place and slipping in amongst the throng. We kept our eyes down and made our way up the narrow gangplank.

  As soon as we were on board, we were hit by a terrible stench, much worse than anything we'd smelled on the dock. It was mixed with coffee, cinnamon and nutmeg, but the odour of human waste was unmistakable. It was so awful that we had to put our handkerchiefs to our mouths as I tried to work out where to look for the hidden living quarters.

  Making my way between boxes marked COFFEE and NUTMEG, I headed for a small staircase that descended into the ship. As I neared the top of the stairs, I saw a sailor coming our way, so I grabbed Lucy's hand and drew her down behind one of the crates.

  'I feel seasick!' whispered Lucy.

  'Lucy, the ship is in dock, not at sea,' I replied. But the fact was that the ship was bobbing about on the water, and that gave us some hint of the rough journey those on board must have suffered in storms and high seas.

  As soon as the sailor had passed, we moved on again. I guessed that the captain would be eager to get the slaves off his ship as quickly as possible, since he could be fined if they were discovered. So I knew we had no time to lose.

  The air below decks was thick with the scent of spices mixed with human sweat and ordure, which made normal breathing difficult. It was also very dark. Only a few lanterns hanging at intervals lit our way with a smoky, flickering light, and we dared not carry one with us for fear of drawing attention to ourselves. We kept following stairs downwards until we were in the bowels of the ship. There I could hear the low moans of people in pain and I felt sure we were nearing the h
old where the slaves were kept.

  Following the sound, we came upon a small wooden door. It was flush with the wooden wall in which it was set and was not immediately visible – especially in the dim lamplight. It was only those terrible cries that led us to it. Surrounded by the terrible smell and the moans of misery, I wanted nothing more than to flee the ship and go no further. But having come so far, I was determined that I would not flinch from my mission now.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed at the door and it swung open, revealing row upon row of people, chained where they sat. They were packed in tightly, with no space to stretch out, and had open wounds on their arms and legs from the shackles. One woman looked as though she had been whipped: we could clearly see the weals on her back, for the fabric of her dress had been ripped to shreds by the whip, and in one corner of the tiny room I saw handcuffs, thumbscrews and branding irons, which I recognized from the meeting.

  The poor slaves gazed at us in fear and confusion, and for a moment I was so appalled by their plight that I thought I would be sick. Lucy was speechless with horror. Neither of us had ever seen such suffering. Our idea of discomfort is when the fire in our hearth goes out, or when we don't dance with the best catch at a ball. This was a level of human deprivation we had never imagined in our worst nightmares.

  'We are not here to hurt you,' I said softly to some women and children who lay cowering in a corner. 'Indeed, we will try our best to help . . .' I added feebly. I felt horribly ineffectual – what could I do alone? But as part of a group, and with Marcus by my side, I felt I really could help to bring about change. I was more determined than ever to take part in his work to stop the slave trade.

  I saw that we could make no difference on board the ship, so when Lucy begged to get back onto terra firma, I agreed. Sid would be waiting and I had successfully carried out my mission – everything I had heard about the treatment of slaves appeared to be true.

  As we quickly made our way off the ship and back towards the gates where we had left Sid, we saw beggars and drunks at every corner. The taverns had now closed and their customers had spilled out onto the docks, drunk and looking for a new source of entertainment. It was much more frightening than it had been on the way in.