Miss Mary’s Daughter

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘Now, Papa,’ she remonstrated. ‘What are you doing up so early?’

  ‘She’ll be here today,’ Thomas replied. ‘Sophia.’

  ‘I know, but there’d have been plenty of time for you to get up later this morning. Their train doesn’t get in until this afternoon.’

  ‘Don’t fuss, Louisa!’ Thomas took his place at the table and Edith brought him tea. ‘I’ll have eggs and bacon, Edith,’ he said. ‘You can serve me and then you can go.’

  Normally Thomas would have helped himself from the chafing dishes on the sideboard, but though he had no intention of admitting it to his daughter, his morning ablutions and getting dressed had taken more out of him than he could have imagined. He was pleased to be able to sit down again without drawing this to her attention.

  Edith dutifully loaded his plate with what he’d asked for and then at a nod from Louisa, left the room.

  ‘Is everything ready?’ Thomas demanded when he’d made a start on his breakfast.

  ‘Yes, Papa,’ Louisa replied. ‘You know it is. Edith has spring-cleaned the room and cleaned the windows. The bed is made up with fresh sheets and AliceAnne is going to pick a few of the late chrysanthemums and put them in a vase beside her bed.’ She turned to the child who was seated on the opposite side of the table.

  ‘If you’ve finished your breakfast, child,’ she said, ‘you can go up to the schoolroom and learn your Bible passage. I will come and hear you later on.’

  ‘Yes, Grandmama.’ AliceAnne slipped down from the table and left the room, pleased to get out of her great-grandfather’s sight. He was kind enough when he paid her any attention at all, but she was terrified of him when he flew into one of his rages, and she never knew when that might happen. She wondered, as she stared out of the schoolroom window, what this new cousin would be like. She didn’t like meeting new people; you never knew where you were with them, but the house had been so filled with talk of Sophia’s arrival, both among the family and below in the kitchen, that she wanted to see who this special person was. Aunt Matty had gone to London to find her, but that had been ages ago. Now, all of a sudden, they were both coming down to Trescadinnick and this Aunt Sophia, as AliceAnne had been told to call her, was going to stay.

  Louisa left her father finishing his breakfast in the morning room and went to ensure that all was ready for her niece’s arrival. She knew it was not the girl’s fault that Thomas had summoned her. No, as always, it was Mary’s. Even from beyond the grave, Mary was the cause of trouble at Trescadinnick. But it didn’t stop Louisa resenting Sophia, an interloper into their settled world, and she hoped that the girl’s stay would be a short one indeed.

  Charles had breakfasted early and had already left the house. He had business at the last copper mine on Felec Head and was not expected home again until the late afternoon, by which time Matty and Sophia would have arrived. Paxton was meeting them at the station with the pony and trap and bringing them home; there was no need, Charles had decided, to be waiting for their arrival. His absence was deliberate; his mother was not the only one who resented Sophia’s coming.

  *

  When the train steamed into the station the three of them climbed down onto the platform where Paxton was waiting to meet them. He took immediate charge of the luggage, directing a porter to load it into the open carriage that waited outside.

  ‘Paxton is our general handyman, Sophie,’ explained Matty. ‘He and Mrs Paxton have been with us for years and look after us all. This is Miss Sophie, Paxton,’ Matty continued the introduction, ‘Mr Penvarrow’s granddaughter.’

  ‘How d’ye do, miss,’ said Paxton, nodding.

  ‘And this is Miss Hannah Butts, Miss Sophie’s maid,’ Matty went on.

  Paxton grunted and put Hannah’s bag into the trap with the others. Then they were off, Paxton turning the horse’s head for home.

  They were soon clear of the town, following a narrow road that wound uphill to edge a windswept expanse of moorland tufted with heather, tussock grass and gorse and pocked with outcrops of weathered, grey stone. The road levelled out for a little and before it dropped down into relative shelter beneath jutting grey crags, far in the distance Sophie caught a glimpse of the sea. Sophie had never seen this country before, but something stirred in her, an awareness, not recognition exactly, but the strange expectation that recognition would come. She gazed round at the unfolding countryside; occasional patches of marshland where still, dark water had gathered amid the stones and grasses at the side of the track and reeds rustled in the wind; a patchwork of fields marked off with stone hedges spread out in the valley, an occasional farmhouse, sheltered by trees, but above it all, the rising sweep of the moor.

  A pale autumn sunshine bathed the upland in mellow light, gilding the gorse to brilliance. The line of the moor rose, etched against a patchy blue sky; drifting clouds cast moving shadows across the high slopes and the valley spread beneath.

  Sophie knew a mounting excitement, almost a singing in her head. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed, turning with glowing eyes to her aunt.

  Matty smiled. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘and you’re seeing it at its best.’

  Hannah did not agree. Sitting behind them in the trap, she stared round at the empty landscape. She had never seen so much space. Where were the houses? Bleak and no mistake, she thought dismally. If this is its best, I’d hate to see it at its worst!

  They crested a rise and Sophie saw it: the house, standing on a sweep of the cliff top; the house and beyond it, restless in the afternoon sun, the sea.

  Sophie didn’t need Matty to tell her it was Trescadinnick; she knew it at once. It stood four-square, strong against the wind and the storms that so often attacked it from the south and west, looking out in four directions. At the north-west corner, a small squat tower rose above the roof to give a view out over the sea and the fishing boats that came and went from the harbour. Grey and strong, its austere lines were softened somewhat by the ivy which threatened to smother it. Other buildings gathered at one side; stables, outhouses and sheds, sheltered by an encircling wall.

  ‘That’s Trescadinnick,’ said Matty, her hand raised towards it. ‘That’s the house and farm buildings. Port Felec, the fishing village, is over the headland.’

  Once she could drag her eyes away from the house itself, Sophie gradually took in the fields, clawed back from bracken and gorse on the hillside, with wider pastures on the flat land below and a clutch of cottages crouching in a hollow, seeking shelter from the Atlantic winds. Beyond the houses stretched the slate-coloured sea, merging at an imperceptible horizon into the grey-blue sky. Of the fishing village, nestling, sheltered in the curve of the cliff, she could see nothing. Only a telltale drift of smoke from its hidden chimneys warned that it was there at all. Sophie heard Hannah sniff, clearly unimpressed by what she saw, but Sophie was enchanted. She raised her hand to the house. ‘Is it very old?’ she asked.

  ‘Parts of it are,’ replied Matty. ‘Bits have been added over the years.’

  As the pony pulled the trap down the hill, they passed a farm gate set between white gateposts. ‘That’s the home farm,’ Matty said. ‘A family called Shaw lives there. They’ve been here even longer than we have!’

  The road swung round sharply and there before them were two enormous gateposts, white-painted stone, with a white, stone acorn set into a white, stone acorn-cup crowning each.

  ‘Here we are at last,’ said Matty cheerily as the trap turned in. It rattled up a short driveway and drew up on a gravelled sweep before the great front door. Already standing there was a gig, with a tired-looking bay waiting patiently in the shafts.

  Matty looked worried. ‘That’s the doctor’s,’ she said. ‘I hope Father hasn’t had another attack.’ She got out of the trap quickly and with Sophie at her heels said, ‘Paxton, please take the luggage in and introduce Hannah to Mrs Paxton. Come, Sophie.’

  She strode to the huge front door, which she opened, twisting the large ring handle to lif
t its heavy latch. Sophie followed more slowly, feeling suddenly afraid. Close to, the house was even more imposing with low-silled sash windows on either side of the front door and a similar row across the floor above. Ivy covered much of that side of the house, leaving the windows to peer short-sightedly between the leaves, and at one end the walls curved round to become the small round tower she had noticed from the hillside. For a moment she paused on the step by the front door and then, not knowing what else to do, she pushed the great door wider and followed her aunt inside.

  It was not quite as she’d visualized it when her aunt had described her mother’s childhood home, but it was not that different either. The walls were panelled and dark, hung with great portraits in heavy gold frames. Doors were let into the panelling and a wide staircase with an iron balustrade curved up to a landing above. The windows on either side of the front door let in the light of the autumn afternoon, but the hall was still gloomy. Sophie paused by a table covered with a chenille cloth, waiting, uncertain. Matty was above on the landing, speaking to someone Sophie couldn’t see.

  ‘Then why have you come?’ she was saying. ‘Did my sister send for you?’

  ‘No, no.’ The voice was reassuring. ‘It’s just a routine call. I hadn’t been in for a couple of days and I like to keep my eye on him.’

  ‘Well, that’s very good of you, Doctor. You know how we all appreciate your concern.’ Matty turned back down the stairs and the doctor, following her, came into view.

  Sophie’s first impression of him was one of height. He towered over her aunt, who herself topped Sophie by a head.

  ‘Will you have a cup of tea before you go?’ Matty was asking. ‘I don’t know where everyone is, but it’d only take a moment to have a pot made.’

  The doctor shook his head, thanking her, but saying he still had calls to make. Then Matty realized that Sophie was in the hall, waiting, and cried, ‘Oh, Sophie, there you are. I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to leave you to find your own way in.’ She hurried across the hall, saying to the doctor as she did so, ‘Dr Bryan, come and meet my niece, Miss Sophie Ross. We’ve just come down from London. Sophie, here is Dr Bryan who looks after your grandfather.’

  The doctor paused at the bottom of the stairs and said, ‘I can see you’re one of the family, Miss Ross.’ Extending his hand, he crossed to Sophie, adding, ‘I heard you were coming. Welcome to Trescadinnick. How d’you do? I’m Nicholas Bryan.’

  Sophie’s hand was firmly grasped and looking up to return his smile, she found herself looking into a young and handsome face, whose light blue eyes seemed to be assessing her and appreciating what they saw.

  She felt the colour flood her cheeks at his appraisal, but managed to return his handshake and answer coolly enough. ‘How do you do, sir?’

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ he replied. ‘What a charming addition you will be to the neighbourhood.’ And before Sophie could think of a suitable reply to this compliment, he turned to include Matty and added, ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay, but I really must get on.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Matty, turning to the door with him. ‘We quite understand.’

  ‘I’ll drop in again in a day or two,’ he said. ‘Just to see how he’s getting on. Don’t let him do too much.’

  ‘You try and stop him!’ Matty laughed.

  ‘Well, I know it’s difficult, but do try.’ He turned back to Sophie. ‘No doubt we’ll meet again then, Miss Ross. Good afternoon.’

  As Matty saw him out of the front door, Sophie heard a rustle behind her and turning sharply, she caught sight of a small figure creeping out from under the chenille-covered hall table. It was a little girl of about six, slipping out of the hiding-place from where she had been watching Sophie’s arrival.

  It must be AliceAnne, Sophie thought, and was about to call a greeting to her, when the child put an imploring finger to her lips and scurried away down a passage. Sophie bit back her words and turned round to find Matty closing the heavy front door behind the doctor.

  ‘Well,’ said Matty, who hadn’t seen the child. ‘No panic after all. Let’s see if we can find the others.’ She opened one of the panelled doors and looked inside. Sophie caught a glimpse of book-lined walls, but that was all before Matty closed that door and tried another.

  This room too proved to be empty and she was just trying a third when the front door opened and a woman came in, shaking the dust from her cloak. She stopped in her tracks and stared at Sophie. Sophie returned her look, realizing that this must be her mother’s elder sister, Louisa. She looked far older than Matty and was much less stylishly dressed. Her grey hair was drawn back tightly into a bun and her face was pinched and tired, etched with lines of sadness or, perhaps, Sophie thought, discontent; it was hard to tell.

  Matty, emerging from the third room, saw the new arrival and cried, ‘Ah, Louisa. There you are. We’ve arrived, as you see. Here’s Sophie. Here’s Mary’s daughter.’

  ‘So I see.’ Louisa managed a smile. ‘Welcome to Trescadinnick, Sophia. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.’ She crossed the hall, and taking Sophie’s hand in hers, touched cheeks in a token embrace. Her words and actions were those of welcome, but they were belied by the look in her eyes. Her smile did not reach those and there was no warmth in them; rather, they scanned Sophie’s face mistrustfully, as if searching out her secret thoughts and assessing her strength. As she drew back, Sophie felt the veiled hostility towards her and wondered at it, questions flitting through her mind. Had Louisa disliked her sister Mary? Envied her escape from their father and Trescadinnick? Was that why her outward show of welcome rang so false? Sophie knew an answering flicker of mistrust herself, but she pushed it aside, smiling, and said how pleased she was to meet her new aunt.

  Apparently entirely unaware of the tension between them, Matty said, ‘Where’s Charles? Isn’t he home yet? And AliceAnne, where’s she?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve been out myself all afternoon, but Charles knows you’re arriving today. As for the child, she could be anywhere.’ Louisa dismissed them from her mind, but she added sharply, ‘What was Dr Bryan doing here?’

  ‘He just came in to have a look at Father,’ Matty replied easily.

  ‘That young man is too free with his coming and going in this house,’ snapped Louisa. ‘He wanders in and out as if he owns the place.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Louisa,’ soothed Matty. ‘He’s the doctor after all. We should be glad he bothers so much about Father. He does have other patients to think about.’

  ‘And he should remember it,’ replied Louisa. ‘Father didn’t need him today. He was up and about this morning, looking forward to seeing Sophia. There was nothing wrong with him at all!’ And with that Louisa turned down the passage along which AliceAnne had vanished a few moments before. ‘You might as well take Sophia straight up if he’s awake anyway,’ she said over her shoulder.

  ‘I didn’t realize he was in bed,’ Matty said, a note of anxiety in her voice. ‘Dr Bryan said he was doing well.’

  ‘And so he is, provided he rests in the afternoon,’ Louisa answered. ‘Anyhow, he said he wanted to see Sophia as soon as she arrived. I’ll bring up some tea.’

  ‘Yes, that would be nice,’ agreed Matty. ‘We’ve had a long journey. We’ll go on up then. Come on, Sophie, time to meet your grandfather.’ They shed their cloaks and then Sophie followed her aunt upstairs.

  Matty led the way from the gallery landing along a corridor and opened a door at the end. Quietly, she entered the room, motioning Sophie to wait for a moment, and spoke softly to someone inside.

  ‘Are you awake, Father? I’m back.’

  Sophie heard an old man reply testily, ‘Of course I’m awake, Matilda. Did you bring her? Has she come?’

  ‘Yes, don’t worry. She’s here.’

  ‘Then bring her up. Bring her up. I want to see her.’

  ‘She’s just outside,’ began Matty. But Sophie had decided to make her entrance and pushing the d
oor open, stood framed in the doorway. The room she had entered had a curved outer wall, with windows staring out across the cliff to the sea and watching inland across the stone-hedged fields to the moors. In the fading autumn light she could see a large, old bed, set so its occupant could see through either set of windows, and a log fire smouldering in a wide stone hearth, lending a little warmth to the chill of the afternoon.

  Sophie’s attention was drawn to the bed as a voice said, ‘Come in, Sophia.’

  She looked across at the old man propped up against the pillows and slowly moved forward into the room.

  ‘I’ll go and help Louisa,’ said Matty, quickly leaving the bedside. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ She left the room, closing the door behind her, and Sophie stood looking down at the frail husk of what had once been a strong and energetic man: her grandfather. His skin was the colour of parchment, wrinkled and dry. His hair, a thatch of silver, sprang unruly on his head, shaggy over his ears and curling at the back of his neck. But his eyes, bright and alert, drew her own and held them as they studied her face.

  ‘So you’re Sophia Alice Ross.’ The name lingered on his tongue as he said it aloud for the first time.

  Having already resolved not to be intimidated by her grandfather, Sophie said, ‘They call me Sophie.’

  ‘I shall call you Sophia.’ He pronounced it with a hard ‘I’, Soph-i-a. ‘It’s a good strong name. I don’t hold with soft nicknames.’

  ‘I prefer Sophie. Sophia is harsh and doesn’t feel like me.’

  The old man sniffed disdainfully. ‘Far too fanciful.’ He waved a hand at the chair by his bed. ‘Come and sit down here where I can see you.’

  Sophie walked round the bed and sat down.

  ‘You came then,’ said her grandfather. ‘I thought you might not.’ Before she could reply he went on, ‘You’re not like your mother, but you could be her mother’s twin. Did you know that? Did she ever tell you that you look just like your grandmother?’