Miss Mary’s Daughter

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘I didn’t know,’ Sophie said abruptly, but interest in her mother’s family could not be denied and she added more easily, ‘I know nothing about her. Mama never mentioned any of you.’

  ‘Play something else,’ suggested Matilda, turning the subject away from families. Time enough for all that, she thought as she set about regaining the confidence of her niece, trying to re-establish the beginnings of the rapport which had emerged that first evening.

  Sophie continued to play, but when at last her hands came to rest on the keys, she turned to her aunt and said, ‘Tell me about the others at Trescadinnick.’ She hadn’t meant to ask questions about them, in fact she was annoyed with herself for doing so now, and yet she couldn’t help it somehow.

  ‘It seems disloyal,’ she said to Hannah later on. ‘They cast Mama off, after all.’

  ‘So they did,’ Hannah agreed. ‘But you have to remember it was her what wrote to them in the end, wasn’t it? She didn’t want no more feuding, did she? What’s happening now is what she had in her mind when she wrote, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Sophie conceded reluctantly. ‘But I don’t like the way they think they can buy me back into the family.’

  ‘As to that,’ Hannah said, ‘I reckon anything you get from them is no more than your due. Your poor ma had little enough from her relations!’

  Sophie had never really noticed the lack of relations. They were a complete family, she and her parents; complete and fulfilled, each existing comfortably in the love and esteem of the others, needing no more extended family. But now she was adrift in the world, without connection, without commitment, perhaps she should find out more about her mother’s family. On impulse she crossed to her mother’s bureau and opened it. Sorting out the bureau was a job she’d been putting off, but now she was searching for anything connected with Trescadinnick and she set to with a will. She hunted through pigeonholes and pulled out drawers, finding several bundles of letters, some in dog-eared envelopes, tied with string. Bills, receipts and other papers she set aside to deal with later. At last she came across a tattered envelope in the bottom of one of the drawers, and in it she discovered two birth certificates, her own and her mother’s, and her parents’ marriage lines, proof positive of what Matilda had told her. Her mother had been born at Trescadinnick.

  ‘There were four of us,’ Matilda said. ‘Well, five, actually, but my brother, Thomas, died in infancy. There was Louisa, my older sister, Joss, our brother, Mary and me. Louisa still lives at Trescadinnick with her son, Charles. He looks after what is left of the estate and tries to make it pay now that the tin mines are almost worked out. Louisa runs the house as she has done, really, since my mother died. She married a widower, James Leroy, who had a young son, Charles, and they all moved into a wing of Trescadinnick. Our brother, Joss, died years ago. He wasn’t married, so there are no more Penvarrows. You are my father’s only grandchild.’

  ‘But surely, there’s Charles,’ Sophie pointed out.

  ‘Charles is not Louisa’s son. She’s widowed now and has no children of her own. Charles is her stepson. She’s the only mother he’s known and they are as close as any other mother and son, but as far as Father’s concerned, well, he’s not a Penvarrow.’ Matilda sighed. ‘I’m very fond of Charles myself. He was married too, but sadly his young wife, Anne, died in childbed, when their daughter, AliceAnne, was born. She’s six now, but she’s no blood-kin to the Penvarrows either.’

  ‘They’re closer to him than I am,’ objected Sophie. ‘They’ve known him all their lives.’

  ‘Maybe,’ conceded Matilda. ‘But they’re not family. Before he dies, your grandfather wants to meet you because you are part of the future he’ll never see. Just come and visit him, Sophie. Stay a few days at Trescadinnick; it needn’t be for long. You’ve got your home waiting here whenever you want to come back.’

  Sophie had promised to think about it, and as she lay in the darkness later that night, she considered again a visit to Trescadinnick. Was that why her mother had finally decided to write to her family? Had she hoped that Sophie would visit her own childhood home? Perhaps, and despite herself Sophie was intrigued.

  Well, she decided, I’ll go. But not for long. Only for a few days. And with her decision made, she drifted off to sleep.

  *

  When Hannah heard of the proposed visit to Trescadinnick, she announced that she was coming too.

  ‘But, Hannah,’ cried Sophie, ‘wouldn’t you rather stay here in London and look after the house?’

  ‘Certainly not, Miss Sophie, the house can look after itself. I’m not letting you go among them heathens in Cornwall on your own, and that’s a fact.’

  ‘But I’m only going for a few days,’ Sophie laughed, ‘a week at most.’

  ‘That’s as maybe,’ Hannah declared darkly. ‘But your ma left me to look after you, so if you’re set on going there, then I’m coming too, and there’s an end to it.’

  Nothing would dissuade her, and secretly Sophie was pleased. It would be very reassuring to have a loved and familiar face nearby when she faced the family she had never met, knowing they would be assessing her, perhaps criticizing her, searching her for signs of her mother.

  Matty didn’t seem at all surprised when she heard that Hannah was coming too. She simply nodded and said it was quite right that Sophie should have her companion with her; and so it was arranged.

  The days before they left were well spent, refurbishing Sophie’s rather shabby wardrobe. Apart from a few made-over garments of her mother’s, Sophie had only her black mourning and two day dresses she’d almost outgrown. There had been little money for clothes in the last year and it had been a case of make do and mend. Looking at her aunt’s stylish, well-cut clothes, Sophie realized she needed something other than her well-worn serge and her hastily bought black mourning dress. Reluctantly, she accepted the allowance Thomas had offered. Some new clothes would give her confidence and at least the unknown family would not find her lacking in appearance.

  It may have been her grandfather who had provided the money, but it was Matty who took her to the dressmaker she always used when she came to London to update her own wardrobe.

  Madame Egloff, in her discreet salon off Bond Street, was delighted when Mrs Treslyn came in with her niece. She saw immediately that with her neat waist, slender shoulders and delicate neck, this was a young lady well worth dressing. She stared in admiration at Sophie’s abundant auburn hair and readied herself to supply hats and gloves, as well as gowns and under garments for this emerging beauty. She was horrified when Matty told her that they needed the clothes ready within the week.

  ‘Ah, Madame Treslyn,’ she cried, her accent very far from Parisian. ‘That is impossible.’

  ‘Difficult, I’m sure, Madame,’ Matty agreed with a smile. ‘But not impossible! I’m sure you have several dresses and gowns ready to show your customers that can swiftly and easily be adapted to our needs. On our next visit to London, I daresay we shall have more time at our disposal, but this time, please, bring out what you have and we shall make our selection.’

  Realizing that this was the best she could offer, Madame Egloff sent her girls scurrying about the salon, bringing out day dresses, skirts and bodices, jackets and tea-gowns for Matty’s consideration. No mention was made of the price of each garment; Sophie was simply dressed and undressed by eager helping hands as she tried on those Matty selected.

  ‘I think, if my niece likes them, we should agree upon the plaid travelling dress, the woollen day dress, the stuff skirt and bodice...’ Matty turned to Sophie. ‘So practical for every day about the house, you know, and the green tea-gown.’

  Sophie stared at her aunt in horror. ‘I couldn’t possibly have all those, Aunt. I love the plaid dress... so very Scottish. But as for the others, I’m sure I don’t need them.’

  ‘Your grandfather has instructed me to ensure you are suitably dressed, Sophie.’

  Sophie’s expression har
dened at this. How dare her grandfather assume she would not be suitably dressed! But she knew, if she were honest, that without his generosity and Matty’s help in choosing she might not have been.

  Seeing Sophie’s mutinous face, Matty softened the comment with a smile and added, ‘And that is what I’m doing, Sophie. Don’t you like the dresses I’ve chosen? If not, we can look again. Madame Egloff could show you plenty more, I’m sure. However, if you like these, then let us say we’ll have them sent round once the alterations have been made, ready to leave next Monday.’

  Sophie found herself lost for words. Still dressed in the tea-gown, she stared at herself in the mirror. She was amazed at how different she looked and felt in the soft mixture of silk and wool. She turned sideways, admiring the shape of the bodice and the drape of the skirt.

  ‘That is my particular gift to you, Sophie,’ Matty spoke gently. ‘It suits you; that dark green is the perfect foil for your hair. It suits you and is very becoming and it is my pleasure to give it to you.’

  What she said was true. It gave her great pleasure to be able to buy her newfound niece such a gift. Sophie was like Mary in so many ways that Matty’s heart ached when she thought of the wasted years of estrangement. She was determined to make up for them now. In the few days she had known Sophie she had grown fond of her, not only for her mother’s sake but for herself, but Matty was wise enough not to rush things. She had to win Sophie’s trust before she could win her heart.

  ‘It is beautiful, Aunt.’ she breathed, ‘but when shall I ever have occasion to wear it?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Matty said cheerfully. ‘We’ll make occasions.’ She turned to Madame Egloff, who stood, hands held out in front of her, expressing her admiration. ‘Please make the alterations, Madame, and have the gowns sent round to Brown’s Hotel by the weekend.’

  Half an hour later, when they left Madame Egloff’s salon, Sophie had been dressed and pinned into each of the garments Matty had chosen, and promises had been made to deliver the clothes to the hotel by Saturday morning at the latest.

  *

  Monday morning saw them at Paddington Station being conducted to a private compartment on the train. Sophie had never travelled in such style before, being more used to the uncomfortable rowdiness of a third-class carriage, but Matty had insisted.

  ‘I always travel this way,’ she said. ‘The journey is quite tiring enough without being crammed in next to crying children and shrill women.’

  Having directed the porter to place their luggage in the guard’s van, Matty had settled herself into their compartment with a copy of the new Murray’s Magazine, which she had bought from a news-stand at the station. Beside her on the seat was a hamper, provided by Brown’s, with the food and drink they would need for the journey.

  As the train drew out of the station and started its long journey west, Sophie felt keyed up with anxious anticipation and was grateful for the comforting presence of Hannah, ensconced on the other side of the compartment. Dressed in her new plaid travelling dress, with a matching hat perched on her head, Sophie knew she was a different person from the one who had sat at her dying mother’s bedside, holding her hand. No longer a young girl on the brink of adulthood... but who? There had been too much change in her life in the past weeks that she still had to come to terms with. Who am I? she wondered. I don’t feel like me! She looked across at Hannah, so familiar, so safe, huddled in a corner, her eyes shut as she dozed, and Sophie felt a wave of affection flood through her. Dear Hannah, she thought, I’m so glad you came too.

  When they had left Madame Egloff, Matty had taken Sophie for afternoon tea at Brown’s. Looking round the famous tea room, with its panelled walls, its alcoved fireplace and its windows giving onto Albemarle Street, Sophie had felt uncomfortable sitting in the luxurious room and was clearly ill at ease. A selection of little cakes and tiny sandwiches arrived on a silver stand, and when Matty had poured their tea from an elegant, silver teapot she looked across at Sophie and said, ‘You look disconsolate, Sophie. What’s the problem?’

  Sophie sighed. ‘It’s just that Mama only passed away a month ago, and here I am sitting drinking tea in an expensive hotel; buying new clothes, not mourning, not even half-mourning. It feels wrong, as if I’ve already forgotten her, as if I didn’t care.’

  Matty reached for her hand. ‘Of course you care, Sophie,’ she said gently. ‘You care on the inside, which is where it matters. You don’t have to make outward show. You remember Mary with love, and that’s as it should be, but she wouldn’t want you to stop living your life to the full. That’s what she always did and that’s what she’d want for you.’

  Sophie had nodded, appearing to accept what her aunt said, but not quite convinced. And now, she thought, as the train gathered speed along the track, here I am, leaving London and off on an adventure.

  At last the train steamed into Truro Station and from there they took the tiny branch line to St Morwen, the nearest stop to Trescadinnick itself. Sophie looked out of the window with ever-increasing interest as their destination drew closer.

  ‘Can you see Trescadinnick from the train?’ she asked her aunt.

  ‘No,’ Matty replied. ‘It’s a mile or two from St Morwen. That’s our local market town... not much more than an overgrown village really. I live just the other side. Paxton should be at the station to meet us.’

  Sophie stared out of the window. She was nearly there. Before long she would meet her unknown family. What would they be like? Well, she decided, they should not find her wanting. They’d be left in no doubt that she was her mother’s daughter.

  5

  Matty had been away for several days before the family at Trescadinnick had any news from her. Thomas was fuming with frustration by the time her first letter arrived.

  ‘Thank goodness she’s finally written,’ muttered Louisa as she took the letter upstairs to her father. He was still in his bed, grumbling because the doctor had called again and continued to recommend that he take life more easily. That was all very well, but since he’d dispatched Matty to London to find his granddaughter, Thomas could settle to nothing. When Louisa brought the letter to him he’d almost snatched it from her hand.

  ‘Now then, Papa,’ she protested gently. ‘No need to get excited. Remember Dr Bryan’s instructions to try and stay calm.’

  Thomas didn’t reply, simply slit open the envelope and pulled out its contents. Louisa waited as he scanned the letter and then, when he said nothing, simply folding it back into the envelope, asked, ‘Well, Papa? What did she say?’

  Thomas looked up, as if surprised that she were interested. ‘It’s from Matilda. She says she has found Sophia and is hoping to persuade her to come here for a visit. It would seem her mother,’ Louisa noticed that her father still couldn’t bring himself to name Mary, ‘has left her in financial straits. Matilda has settled some debts and paid the rent on the house for another year. Now all she has to do is bring the girl down here.’ He paused and added, ‘She doesn’t seem to like the idea at present, but Matilda is encouraging her to come, just for a short visit, so that we can all get to know her.’

  ‘I think she sounds very ungrateful,’ sniffed Louisa. ‘After all, you owed her nothing. And having taken care of her debts, at least she should do as you wish and come and see you.’

  ‘She’ll come,’ Thomas asserted. ‘Matilda will persuade her. So you, Louisa, must prepare a room for her. We must make her welcome.’

  ‘Of course, Papa,’ Louisa said dutifully. ‘I think I’ll put her into Mary’s room... if she comes.’

  ‘Whatever you think best.’ Thomas was happy to leave such decisions to her.

  The decision was easy; Louisa felt no need to prepare one of the main guest rooms for Sophie. Matty and Mary had always shared a room at the back of the house, overlooking the walled garden, and Louisa considered it quite good enough for the daughter of her wayward sister; someone who, as far as she was concerned, had no place at Trescadinnick.
All this fuss for a chit of a girl whom none of them had known anything about until a month ago. It was ridiculous! What had got into her father’s head?

  Matty’s second letter arrived the following day and when he’d read it Thomas called Louisa back in to see him. ‘Matilda’s bringing the girl down with her,’ he said. ‘They’ll arrive on Tuesday. Oh, and Sophia is bringing her maid with her.’

  ‘Her maid?’ Louisa sounded outraged. ‘She has a maid? I thought she was a pauper! And anyway, what right has she to bring a servant without so much as a by-your-leave?’

  ‘Matilda agreed she should come,’ Thomas said. ‘She thought Sophia would be more at home with a familiar face nearby.’

  Sophia, Sophia. Everything was Sophia! Louisa pursed her lips but made no further comment, not to Thomas anyway. Later on, to her son, Charles, she said, ‘I don’t know why he’s getting so excited about her. He wouldn’t see Mary, even cut her dead at Jocelyn’s funeral. And now, suddenly, he’s wanting to meet a granddaughter he knew nothing about.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s the reason,’ replied Charles. ‘It is because he knew nothing about her that he wants to meet her now, before it’s too late.’ He smiled wryly at his mother. ‘He’s not getting any younger and she’s the only grandchild he has. The only true Penvarrow heir.’

  Louisa stared at him. ‘He wouldn’t,’ she breathed as she took in the import of what Charles was saying. ‘He wouldn’t disinherit you for her... not after you lived here all your life, not after you’ve worked so hard to keep the estate running!’

  ‘I’m not his grandson,’ Charles pointed out.

  ‘As good as,’ cried Louisa.

  ‘Not blood-kin,’ Charles answered with a shake of his head. ‘Not good enough for him.’

  The sun rose in a clear blue sky over Trescadinnick the following Tuesday. To Louisa’s surprise her father appeared in the morning room for breakfast. It was the first time he had reverted to his usual routine since he’d had the seizure and Louisa, who was already at the breakfast table, got to her feet at once.