Miss Mary’s Daughter

by Diney Costeloe

  When Louisa came upstairs a little later she was surprised to find Sophie and AliceAnne sitting on the window seat, their heads bent over a book. ‘AliceAnne! You’re supposed to be doing arithmetic,’ she said. ‘What about the sums I left you?’

  ‘Please, Grandmama, I’ve done them.’

  ‘What? All of them?’

  ‘Yes, Grandmama.’ AliceAnne picked up the paper from the table and handed it to Louisa. She glanced through it and then, turning to Sophie, said, ‘Did you do them for her?’

  ‘No, certainly not,’ Sophie replied. ‘Once I’d shown her how to do them, she did them all by herself. She’s a clever girl and soon got the hang of them.’

  Louisa nodded and said, ‘Well, that’s good, AliceAnne. Now run along downstairs and have your milk. Mrs Paxton’s in the kitchen.’ AliceAnne made for the door, only to be halted again.

  ‘Don’t forget to thank your Aunt Sophie for her help.’

  ‘Thank you, Aunt Sophie,’ came the dutiful reply, before AliceAnne disappeared down to the kitchen for her milk and a slice of cake.

  Sophie got to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go down and sort out some music now,’ she said. ‘I want to practise something to play for my grandfather after dinner.’

  ‘He doesn’t always come down for dinner,’ Louisa said, her lip curling. She knew what Sophie was up to, trying to curry favour with her grandfather in the hope he’d change his will and she would inherit Trescadinnick.

  ‘Well,’ Sophie said, aware of Louisa’s hostility but unable to account for it, ‘I shall enjoy practising anyway.’ With that, she left her aunt in the nursery and went back downstairs to the drawing room.

  The room was cold and dull, with only grey light filtering through the windows, so Sophie lit the lamp and carried it over to the piano. She found the music Thomas had mentioned and there was plenty of it, some stored in the large piano stool, some in a large polished wooden chest that stood to one side. She lifted out the sheets, and was soon engrossed in what she found. Some pieces she knew well, others she’d heard but never tried to play, and yet more were entirely new to her. Selecting several of her favourites, she sat down and began running her fingers over the keys. The piano still needed tuning, but that didn’t spoil her enjoyment. For some time she was immersed in the music, but gradually she became aware that she wasn’t alone in the room, and turning she found AliceAnne standing awkwardly by the door.

  ‘AliceAnne,’ she said gently, ‘don’t stand in the doorway. Come in and listen properly.’

  The child didn’t move for a moment and then she edged her way into the room, still cautious and uneasy. Sophie held out a hand to her and the little girl crept closer.

  ‘Did you like the music?’ Sophie asked.

  AliceAnne nodded.

  ‘Shall I play some more?’

  AliceAnne nodded again, and edged a little nearer.

  Sophie picked out a simple nursery rhyme, a tune that she thought AliceAnne might recognize, and was rewarded with one of AliceAnne’s rare smiles.

  ‘Would you like to have a try?’ Sophie asked.

  AliceAnne glanced anxiously over her shoulder, and then shook her head. ‘Grandmama says I’m not to touch.’

  ‘I see,’ said Sophie thoughtfully. ‘Well, I don’t expect she’d mind if I’m with you. You mustn’t touch the piano when you’re on your own.’ She took the child’s hand and drew her to her side. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘just press down some of the keys and see what sound they make.’

  Tentatively, AliceAnne touched one of the keys.

  ‘That’s right,’ Sophie said encouragingly, ‘and another.’

  Half an hour later AliceAnne could, with one careful finger, pick out the tune of the nursery rhyme.

  At luncheon, when they were all assembled round the dining table, Sophie turned to Charles and said, ‘Charles, if you have no objection, I would like to teach AliceAnne to play the piano.’

  ‘AliceAnne?’ He sounded surprised at the suggestion. ‘Isn’t she a little young for that sort of thing?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Sophie disagreed. ‘She’s the perfect age, and I think she’d like to learn.’

  AliceAnne sat silent, watching her father and awaiting his decision. To her surprise he turned to her and said, ‘Would you like to learn, AliceAnne?’

  ‘Yes, please, Papa,’ AliceAnne whispered, her eyes bright. ‘Oh yes, please.’

  Charles shrugged and said to Sophie, ‘If you want to spend the time, you may do as you please. I have already sent to Truro for someone to come and tune the piano.’

  Sophie was surprised he had remembered, and she thanked him for his kindness. Charles brushed aside her thanks and excusing himself, disappeared into his office.

  ‘The mist is lifting,’ Matty said. ‘If you have no need of him this afternoon, Papa, I’ll ask Paxton to drive me home.’

  Thomas gave a nod of indifference. ‘Do as you please.’ And rising from the table he went into his library, leaving the three women sitting in awkward silence at the table. Then Louisa got to her feet saying, ‘I’ll tell Paxton you need him, Matty,’ and strode out of the room.

  Matty gave Sophie a wry smile and getting to her feet said, ‘It sounds as if I’m leaving straight away.’

  Ten minutes later Paxton had brought the trap round to the front door and carried out Matty’s bag. Sophie followed her aunt outside to say goodbye.

  ‘I’ll bring Millie over tomorrow,’ Matty promised. ‘Or if I can’t, I’ll get my groom, Timothy, to do so.’ She presented a sweet-scented cheek for Sophie to kiss and climbed up into the trap. Paxton shook up the reins and with a wave she was gone.

  Sophie turned back into the house, wondering if her grandfather needed her. The house was quiet; there was no sign of AliceAnne. Louisa had disappeared into the kitchen and Sophie felt completely at a loose end. Though the weather was still dull and grey, the mist had lifted and she decided that some fresh air would do her good, and she’d go for a walk.

  Collecting her cloak, she wandered out into the garden. She’d had no chance to explore it yesterday and she walked slowly out from the sheltered garden that lay below her bedroom, and turned towards the outbuildings she had seen from her window. The back door of the house opened, as she’d thought, into the stable yard. Beyond that, unseen from the house, was a kitchen garden where Sophie saw an elderly man planting out cabbages.

  That must be Davies, she thought as she raised a hand to wave to him. Whether he saw her or not, she received no acknowledgement and so she continued along a path that led through a shrubbery to the wall at the far end of the garden. Reaching it, she found there was a wooden gate set into the wall, which gave access to the cliff. It was bolted on the inside, but it was only the work of moments to slide the bolts and pull the gate open. The wind that had dispersed the mist had continued to freshen, and as Sophie stepped out from the shelter of the garden onto the cliff top she was buffeted by a blast of cold air that made her clutch her cloak more firmly around her. A rough path led away from the gate, twisting through the coarse grass and scrubby heather, following the contour of the cliff. Sophie paused to look out across the sea, a shifting mass of grey topped with white caps of foam. From here she could see that the path ran all along the cliff edge until it joined another, emerging from the other side of the house; the one she, Hannah and AliceAnne had taken to the village the previous day. It was cold out here in the wind, so Sophie decided she would only walk as far as that and then perhaps return the other way, to the front of the house. That would be enough fresh air for today. She set out, keeping carefully to the pathway. She remembered AliceAnne had said there was a path down to a beach from the end of the garden, and sure enough she saw it almost at once – not a path, but rather a series of rough-hewn steps cut into the rock. Posts had been driven into the ground and attached to these was a rope, offering a handhold to anyone who might choose to descend. Taking hold of the rope, Sophie edged her way down the first few steps. Though little mor
e than a footstep wide, the rocky stairs didn’t seem particularly steep. Sophie could hear the pounding of the waves at the foot of the cliffs and, gripping one of the posts, she peered over the edge to see a strip of sand gleaming dully below. Holding tightly to the rope, Sophie made her way downwards. Halfway down, the steps levelled out into a pathway for a few yards before there were more steps leading finally to the beach below. It was rough underfoot, but as she’d realized, nothing like as steep as the path she had seen the day before. When she finally reached the bottom she found herself in a small cove, its strip of beach protected by two arms of rock that jutted out into the sea. The cliff itself had been eroded over time and there was a hollow under an overhang, providing shelter from the prevailing wind. Standing under this arch, Sophie felt a finger of sunshine that had pierced the cloud warm her upturned face. In the summertime it must be a lovely place to come and have a picnic, she thought. It would be sheltered from the wind, and there was even a flattish rock at the side where you’d be able to lay out food, or sit in the sun.

  Sophie sat down on it now and looking out across the water, wondered how often her mother had sat in this exact same spot. It was then that she noticed the ring; an iron ring, old and rusty, set into one of the rocks at the foot of the arch. It must be for tying up a boat of some sort, Sophie thought. But who would bring in a boat here? It would have to nose its way through a narrow, rocky passage in from the sea and would be in danger of being holed on the razor-sharp rocks. Smugglers perhaps? But surely they didn’t still sneak into such coves to offload their contraband. That was years ago. Who would be bringing a boat in now? It was then that she noticed the waves had begun to encroach on the sand. The tide must be coming in. Quickly she got to her feet and retraced her steps across the little beach to the path leading back up the cliff. As soon as she stepped out from the shelter of the hollow she felt again the wind whipping her cloak and realized how strong it had become. The weak sunshine that had broken through for a few moments had vanished and dark clouds stained the horizon. It was definitely time to leave the cove. She grabbed for the rope and using it to help her climb, began the clamber back up the path. Going up, it seemed much steeper than coming down, and by the time she reached the steps at the top and hauled herself out onto the cliff path, she was flushed and out of breath with exertion. Glancing back out to sea, she could see storm clouds scudding in over the water. With no time to walk her planned route, she turned and hurried back to the gate in the wall, anxious to be indoors before the rain arrived. When she reached the gate she found to her dismay that it was closed and would not open. Someone must have bolted it on the other side. With a cry of frustration, Sophie turned and hurried back along the path to its junction with the path leading to the front of the house. It only took her just over ten minutes to reach the front door, but by then the rain was already falling steadily and when she opened the front door she was greeted by a horrified Louisa.

  ‘Sophie! Where on earth have you been? We’ve been searching the house for you. Your grandfather is up from his rest and wanted to speak with you.’

  Feeling bedraggled and knowing she must look an absolute fright, she pushed her damp hair from her forehead and said, ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Louisa, but I got caught in the rain.’

  ‘But where have you been?’ demanded her aunt again.

  ‘Nowhere much,’ Sophie replied, finding that she did not want to admit going down to the cove on her own. ‘I was in the garden, and when I reached the gate to the cliff I went out and walked a little on the cliff path. When it started to rain I went back to the gate, but it had been shut and locked, so I had to come all the way round. By then,’ she added ruefully, ‘as you can see, it was raining quite hard and I got soaked.’

  ‘Of course the gate was locked,’ snapped Louisa. ‘We seldom open it and if Davies found it open he would certainly have shut and locked it.’ She gave Sophie an exasperated look and said, ‘Well, you’d better get dry and changed. There’ll be tea in the drawing room directly.’

  Feeling like a scolded child, Sophie simply said, ‘Yes, Aunt,’ and went upstairs to her room.

  After tea, at which AliceAnne made a short appearance, Sophie went with her back to the schoolroom where they settled down to play some of the card games Hannah had been teaching the child. Outside, the storm had swept in from the sea and had intensified in fury. The rain continued to fall in torrents and the wind had strengthened, howling round the house and rattling the windows.

  ‘I don’t like storms,’ AliceAnne said shakily. ‘I’m scared. Can we pull the curtains and shut it out?’

  ‘Yes, of course we can,’ said Sophie, pulling the drapes across the windows. ‘But there’s no need to be scared, you know. You’re quite safe in here.’

  ‘Not me, Papa.’

  ‘But, AliceAnne, Papa is safe indoors as well.’

  ‘But sometimes the bangs happen and Papa goes out into the storm. I don’t like it when he goes. Suppose he doesn’t come back!’

  ‘The bangs? What are the bangs?’

  ‘Big bangs. And when they go off, Papa goes running down to the village because it means there’s a wreck.’

  When Sophie sought elucidation from Charles at dinner later on, he smiled and said, ‘She means the maroons. When they see a signal flare from a ship in distress out at sea, they set off a gunpowder charge down on the harbour to summon the lifeboat men. As soon as they hear the bang, they drop whatever they are doing and come running down to Anvil Cove to the boathouse to launch the lifeboat.’

  ‘But you don’t go, do you?’ asked Sophie in astonishment.

  ‘I go to the harbour, but I’m not one of the regular men, no,’ Charles replied. ‘There are others far more experienced on the sea than I am, but there have been occasions when someone can’t turn out and I’ve taken his place. Most of the men are local fishermen, but there are several others as well. Will Shaw from the home farm is a regular and Martin Penlee from The Clipper. Fred Polmire, the postman, is another. They all turn out.’

  ‘But where’s the lifeboat?’ Sophie said. ‘I’ve never seen one in the harbour.’

  ‘You couldn’t launch it from the harbour at low tide,’ Charles explained. ‘It’s kept in a stone boathouse at Anvil Cove further round the head. It’s a little more sheltered and they can pull it down to the sea on its carriage and launch it from there. This coast is very treacherous, with hidden reefs and rip tides, and very often there’s a strong sou’wester, like the one blowing tonight. That can drive a ship seeking shelter from the storm onto a lee shore where she will break her back on the rocks below the cliffs.’

  ‘And the lifeboat goes out to rescue them?’

  ‘Always,’ replied Charles. ‘If a distress flare is seen, the maroons go off and the lifeboat is launched. There’ve been too many wrecks on this coast, too many lives lost and men drowned. Once a ship is cast up on the rocks or holed and sinking, the lifeboat is their crew’s only chance. We can’t save the ship, but we can save the men.’

  ‘There was a time,’ Thomas said reminiscently, ‘when wreckers used false lights to lure ships onto the rocks during a storm, without any thought for the crew. Then, when the storm had passed, they’d steal what they could from the wreck. Whole villages would go down to the beach to pass goods back from the ship.’

  ‘Indeed, Papa, so they say,’ Matty said. ‘But that was a hundred years ago. Nothing like that happens today.’

  ‘But now it’s the lifeboat that goes out to the rescue,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Sometimes several go,’ Charles said. ‘There are others further north, but it’s the Port Felec boat that’s launched first on this part of the coast.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous that you go, Charles,’ said Louisa, entering into the conversation for the first time. ‘What do you know about sailing?’

  ‘Enough to be useful, Mama,’ returned Charles. ‘The coxswain, Joe Fraser, knows I’ll take orders like any other hand, and they need a full crew. So, yes, I have been
a few times when they’ve been a man down.’

  Listening to the wind still howling round the house, and the clatter of hail on the windows, Sophie shuddered. ‘It sounds terrifying. The sea must be so rough. Aren’t you afraid?’

  ‘It is,’ Charles admitted. ‘The waves are enormous and of course I’m afraid. We all are. But once you’re out at sea there is so much to be done, you haven’t time to think about it.

  *

  No wonder AliceAnne is frightened if there’s a storm, thought Sophie later, as she lay in bed listening to the continued shrieking of the wind. There had been none of the ‘bangs’ that had so worried the little girl, but the storm continued unabated. The long curtains drawn across the windows against the darkness, stirred by a draught from somewhere, whispered on their poles. Sophie, seeing this, crept out of bed again to make sure that the windows were tightly shut. But when she pulled the curtains back and looked out into the impenetrable blackness of the night, she found that both were firmly closed and no current of air was coming from there. Intrigued, Sophie closed the curtains again and watched as they began their gentle motion once more. The candle flame was flickering too. She had noticed that as she’d sat in bed, but hadn’t linked the two. There was, definitely, a draught coming from somewhere; she could feel it on her bare feet now, but from where? She retreated to the bed, but as she passed the old mahogany armoire she realized that the breath of air was coming from there, from under the wardrobe. Sophie picked up the flickering candle and opened the wardrobe door. There, carefully hung from a rail, or folded onto shelves, were her few clothes. She parted the hanging clothes and peered inside, but there was nothing else to see.

  Closing the door again, she stood, staring round the dimly lit room. There was nothing, and yet still Sophie could feel cool air about her feet. Holding her candle high, she moved round the side of the wardrobe, looking at the solid mahogany of which it was made. It had a flared cornice with a decorated wooden top, extending outward in an exuberant flourish. To accommodate this extending sill, the wardrobe stood out an inch or so from the wall and as Sophie approached, she realized this was where the cool air was coming from. She held the candle nearer, put her eye to the gap, and at last discovered the source of the draught. The wardrobe stood, not against a wall as she had assumed, but in front of, and concealing, a door... a connecting door to the next room: to Jocelyn’s room. In the dancing light of the candle Sophie could just make out the dark panelling of the door. She tried to slide her fingers into the space between the wall and the back of the wardrobe, but her hand was too big. All she could feel, with the very tips of her fingers, was the edge of the door frame. She went round to the other side of the wardrobe and peered through the tiny gap there, but could see even less. She needed light, and all she had was one feeble candle.