‘I don’t know,’ replied Sophie. ‘I’m sure she did. I’ll go and see.’ As she walked out of the room the front door opened and Hannah came into the hall, alone.
‘Hannah!’ cried Sophie, relief in her voice. ‘Is AliceAnne with you?’
Hannah didn’t answer the question but asked instead, ‘Is it true that Mr Penvarrow has passed away, Miss Sophie?’
‘Yes, Hannah, I’m afraid it is. But have you got AliceAnne with you?’
Hannah still didn’t answer the question but said, ‘I need to speak to Mr Charles.’
At that moment Charles, having heard Hannah’s voice, came out into the hall. ‘Hannah, where is AliceAnne?’
‘She’s quite safe, sir. I’ve left her at the home farm with the Shaws, while I came back to see what had happened here.’ Charles seemed about to interrupt but Hannah went on, ‘If Mr Penvarrow has indeed passed away, sir, I thought you might prefer Miss AliceAnne to be out of the house for a bit. It’s not the place for a little girl while what is necessary is carried out. I’ve come to ask you if she may have her Christmas dinner with Will Shaw and his family. She knows Lizzie well enough and I could fetch her home again when it’s her bedtime.’
Sophie watched as Charles considered what Hannah had said. She could see the sense of Hannah’s suggestion and she hoped Charles would too.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘She may stay there if the Shaws will have her. They are good people. And if Miss Sophie can spare you, I would like you to stay there with her.’
‘Of course Hannah should stay,’ Sophie said at once.
‘And when you bring her home,’ Charles said, ‘I’ll talk to her and explain what has happened.’
‘Left her with the Shaws?’ cried Louisa when she heard what had been arranged. ‘What were you thinking of, Charles? She’s his granddaughter. Her place is here.’
Sophie thought at first that Charles was going to point out yet again that AliceAnne wasn’t actually Thomas’s granddaughter, but all he said was, ‘Mama, she’s a child of six. If she came home now, she would be sent up to the schoolroom to be out of the way. Christmas Day is already spoilt for her. There is no need to make it any worse.’
‘She needs to pay her respects,’ persisted Louisa. ‘It’s only proper.’
‘As to that,’ Charles said, ‘I shall not allow her to see him. Why frighten her with the sight of a dead man, when she can remember him alive and well.’
Louisa was about to speak again, but Charles held up his hand. ‘My mind is made up, Mama, and I shall not change it.’
Thank goodness Charles had stood up to his mother and put AliceAnne’s welfare ahead of ‘propriety’, Sophie thought as she rewarded him with a smile. She had not been allowed to see her father after his accident and she knew she was happier remembering him as he had been in life.
The next two days passed in the sombre shadow of death, faces solemn, voices hushed and conversation kept to a minimum. The weather on Boxing Day, Sunday, was as inclement as on Christmas Day itself and there was no question of anyone from Trescadinnick returning to church for the normal Sunday service.
‘It wouldn’t be seemly to appear in public so soon,’ Louisa had announced. ‘The news of Papa’s death will be the talk of the village by now and I, for one, have no wish to become the subject of idle gossip. We must maintain a proper, dignified distance.’ Matty had agreed and thus no one had left the house that day. No further celebration of Christmas was deemed appropriate and on Louisa’s instruction, Paxton removed the tree and Edith swept up the sweet-smelling pine needles, leaving the hallway cold and bereft of cheer. The Christmas goose which had been roasted for Christmas dinner could not be wasted and was served cold the following day. Charles and Sophie ate theirs upstairs in the schoolroom with AliceAnne, and gave her the gifts that had previously lain beneath the Christmas tree. A riding habit specially made for her, from Charles; a hat and some kid gloves from Sophie and to AliceAnne most exciting of all, the promise of a puppy from Matty, whose dog Silver was due to whelp in two weeks’ time. The atmosphere in the schoolroom, warmed by the stove lit by two oil lamps, and separated from the dank day outside by faded velvet curtains, was so completely different from the chill in the rest of the house that as they sat together Sophie could feel the tension seeping from her body.
‘Papa,’ AliceAnne said tentatively and then stopped.
‘Papa, what?’ asked her father with a smile.
‘When I was at Mrs Shaw’s house yesterday Lizzie was there, and Mrs Smart, who’s Lizzie’s sister. And she had her children with her, and they’re called Alison and Tommy and Sarah, and we played and Mrs Shaw says I can go to the farm whenever I want to and I do want to, Papa, because we played games all round the house and then after tea we did charades and all the grown-ups played too, and we were in teams and Hannah and I were in Mr Shaw’s team and we won because we guessed the word which was alligator cos the other team, Mr Smart’s team, did Ali short for Alison and then gaiters which Mr Shaw wears on the farm when it’s extra muddy, and then Tommy was an alligator and crawled across the floor so we knew what the word was, but they didn’t guess our word which was kingfisher, even though Hannah crowned Mr Shaw as king and Lizzie did fishing and I flew round as the bird at the end, and so we won the prize and it was a twisty stick of barley sugar and Hannah said I could eat half then and bring the other half home so I’ve got some for today, or I did have, but she said I could eat the rest of it after lunch, so I did.’
At the end of this torrent of words, such as neither Charles nor Sophie had ever heard from AliceAnne, Charles said rather feebly, ‘Well, it sounds as if you had a lovely time.’ And Sophie thought, And with far more fun than you’d have had here!
‘So can I, Papa?’
‘Can you what?’ Charles found he had lost the thread of AliceAnne’s excited story.
‘Can I go to the farm and play with the other children when they come again? Mrs Shaw says she’ll show me milking the cows and I can help her feed the chickens, and I do want to, Papa.’
‘We’ll see,’ replied her father cautiously. ‘I’ll talk to Hannah about it, all right?’
‘Oh, Hannah will say it’s all right,’ AliceAnne said ingenuously, ‘cos she likes Mr Shaw. She goes there for tea on Saturdays, so I could go with her, couldn’t I?’
‘Does she now?’ Charles raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, if Hannah goes with you I’m sure it’ll be all right, but I need to speak to Hannah first.’
When Hannah came up to get AliceAnne ready for bed, Sophie and Charles left her to it and went back down to the aunts in the drawing room, where the temperature and the atmosphere were several degrees cooler. Neither of them spoke of AliceAnne’s invitation to return to visit the home farm; sufficient time to apprise Louisa of that idea another day.
Monday morning dawned bright and cold. The bleak grey weather of the Christmas weekend had cleared and Sophie woke to a cloudless blue sky, the pale winter sun giving an illusory warmth to the world beyond the window. She went down to breakfast and found Matty and Charles together in the morning room. They looked up as she came in and Matty said, ‘Good morning, Sophie.’
Sophie smiled at her, replying, ‘Good morning, Aunt, Charles.’
Charles, who had just finished his coffee, got to his feet and turning to Matty, said, ‘Everything is in hand here, Aunt, so I plan to ride out for an hour.’ He glanced across at Sophie and asked, ‘Would you care to ride with me, cousin?’
‘I’d love to,’ Sophie said. She had not been looking forward to spending yet another day in this shuttered house of mourning. ‘But,’ she turned to Matty, ‘I suppose it would be considered unseemly and improper with my grandfather still lying upstairs.’
‘Charles has to visit the rector this morning to make arrangements for the funeral,’ Matty pointed out. ‘There is no reason why you should not go with him.’
‘But won’t you and Aunt Louisa want...?’ began Sophie.
‘We shall leave al
l such arrangements to Charles as the man of the family but, in the circumstances, perhaps you should go too.’
Sophie still looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure Aunt Louisa will think so,’ she said. ‘She’s always so concerned about propriety, and,’ Sophie looked anxiously at Charles, ‘no one but the family knows my grandfather rewrote his will. Everyone still thinks you’ll inherit Trescadinnick, Charles.’
Charles shrugged. ‘As to that, Sophie, they’ll find out soon enough. I shall send a message to Mr Staunton today to tell him what has occurred and ask him to attend the funeral and make a formal reading of the will afterwards.’ He gave her a smile and went on, ‘Come with me at least to see the rector.’
‘Go, Sophie,’ Matty encouraged. ‘If necessary I’ll take care of Louisa... and the fresh air will do you both good.’
Half an hour later Sophie and Charles clattered out of the stable yard and trotted down the lane towards Port Felec. The brightness of the morning lifted Sophie’s spirits and she knew a feeling of release, being out of the house.
‘I was very grateful to Hannah for looking after AliceAnne on Christmas Day,’ Charles said as they rode together side by side. ‘It would have been a dreadful day for her, shut into Trescadinnick with all of us so shocked by Grandfather’s death.’
‘And no Christmas,’ added Sophie. ‘Hannah told me that they had all made a fuss of her, to keep her day special.’
‘I’ve spoken to Hannah too, and she says she’s happy to take AliceAnne there on occasional visits if I allow her.’
‘And will you allow her?’
‘I shall certainly consider it,’ Charles replied. ‘I know you’re right when you say AliceAnne needs other children to play with, but I’m not sure how my mother will like it if they are simple farmer’s children.’
‘But it is your decision,’ ventured Sophie. ‘You always say she’s your daughter...’
‘...my daughter.’
They spoke the words together and it made them both laugh. It was the first time either of them had laughed since going into church on Christmas Day. In companionable silence they continued their ride down to the parsonage, where in answer to their knock a maid showed them into a large, cold drawing room. There was no fire laid in the grate and the curtains were half-drawn across the long narrow windows, casting the room into shadow.
The rector’s daughter, Miss Osell, came in almost immediately, and addressing herself to Charles, bade him good morning and said her father would be with him at once. In the meantime she invited them to sit and threw back the curtains, allowing sunlight to flood the room.
‘I’m so sorry, Miss Ross,’ she said, now giving her attention to Sophie. ‘The maid’s been very slack today, not preparing the room for visitors. My father gave her a half-day yesterday so she could visit her mother and the result is, no work done today.’
‘It’s of no consequence, Miss Osell,’ Charles assured her. ‘We have only come to discuss a family matter with your father. We shall not intrude upon you for more than a quarter-hour.’
‘But surely you will take some tea? Or a glass of sherry? I know gentlemen often prefer something other than tea,’ said Miss Osell, ‘and my father considers sherry quite acceptable these days.’
‘Tea would be most welcome to us both,’ put in Sophie. ‘For,’ as she said to Charles when Miss Osell had left the room, ‘if we do not accept at once, we shall have to accept at last!’
Charles smiled at this and once again Sophie was struck by how much his rare smile became him, lighting his eyes and dispersing his habitual seriousness.
Miss Osell was soon back, followed by the maid carrying the tea tray, and before long they were sitting sipping the unwanted tea, still waiting for the rector. At last the Reverend Osell appeared, full of apologies.
‘We shall not keep you long, sir,’ Charles said. ‘No doubt you have heard the sad news of Mr Thomas Penvarrow’s death.’
‘Well, dear me, yes. Yes indeed,’ replied the rector. ‘One heard the rumour, you know, but I was not certain of its veracity.’ He glanced at his daughter. ‘I’m sure Mr Leroy would prefer to discuss this with me alone, my dear. Perhaps you should withdraw...’ he paused awkwardly, ‘...and show Miss Ross the, er, the garden?’
His daughter got at once to her feet, but Sophie remained firmly in her chair.
‘Miss Ross and I would like to speak with you together,’ Charles said. And when Miss Osell paused uncertainly at the door, her father waved her out of the room before eyeing Sophie with disfavour and murmuring, ‘Most unusual.’
‘I am sorry to confirm, Rector, that Mr Penvarrow did indeed pass away on Christmas morning and that Miss Ross and I are here to discuss funeral arrangements with you.’
‘But, Miss Ross, this must be most distressing for you,’ the rector tried again. ‘If you’d prefer...?’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Sophie replied, ‘but my cousin and I prefer to make the arrangements together.’
The rector gave in and with Charles taking the lead in the conversation, whilst referring each decision to Sophie for agreement, the arrangements for the funeral were decided upon within the quarter-hour. There was no need for delay and it was fixed for Friday at noon; plenty of time to bespeak a coffin from Truro, send for the hearse and plumed horses and arrange for the family tomb to be opened in preparation. The rector would, of course, preach at the service, the choir would sing the anthem and workers on the estate would come and pay their respects.
Both Charles and Sophie heaved sighs of relief when they were once again out in the fresh air.
‘A ride up to the moor and home that way?’ suggested Charles.
Sophie knew they should be going straight back to Trescadinnick, but was unable to resist the thought of a gallop across the country, enjoying the freedom from restraint that riding always gave her. She hesitated, but when Charles simply raised an enquiring eyebrow she smiled and nodded, and they were away up the track and onto the open moor.
As they rode up onto the higher ground, Sophie looked back. Spread out below them was the valley, patchworked with stone hedges, the land muted in its winter colours; the occasional hamlets and farmsteads protected by stands of trees, planted as windbreaks, and beyond the cliffs, the wide expanse of the sea, ruffled silk on this calm winter day. Trescadinnick stood bold and strong amidst its outbuildings and garden, and nestling in the shelter of a hollow between the house and the rooftops of Port Felec lay the home farm.
As they reached the top of the hill, Charles drew rein and they both surveyed the land spread out below them.
‘It’s a beautiful place, Charles,’ Sophie said, ‘your home.’
‘Not my home any more, cousin,’ remarked Charles stiffly.
‘It will be your home as long as you want it to be,’ Sophie said. ‘Who else is going to look after it for me?’
‘Thank you, Sophie.’ Charles gave her a rueful smile. ‘But when you’re married, as you will be some day, your husband may have other ideas.’
The thought had not occurred to Sophie before. When she married Nicholas, surely they would live in his house where his dispensary was and where he held his surgery. ‘Time enough to worry about that when the time comes,’ she said cheerfully. Looking back at the house, she saw someone moving in the yard. ‘Better go back, I suppose,’ she said reluctantly.
Charles nodded. He had given Sophie the chance to tell him she was engaged to Nicholas Bryan but she had not, so perhaps his fears in that direction were unfounded. Surely Sophie had enough common sense to see through him; to see what he was after. At least there would be no question of marriage during the period of mourning, following Thomas’s death. They headed for home, the horses picking their way down the steep track to the lane that ran to the house.
They turned into the stable yard and once he had seen Sophie safely dismounted, Charles said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, cousin, I must go in and write to Mr Staunton. Now we have the date for the funeral fixed, I must send Paxton to hi
m with the news.’
He hurried back into the house and Sophie stayed for a few minutes, watching Ned rub the horses down, before leaving the yard and going round to the front of the house. There, to her surprise she was confronted by Nicholas.
He grabbed her by the wrist and said, ‘Where have you been? How dare you ride out alone with another man, that man!’ His grip on her wrist was fierce and she tried to pull away, saying, ‘Nicholas, let go, you’re hurting me.’
He did not let go, though his grip eased a little. ‘Well, what have you to say?’ he demanded.
‘Nicholas, this is ridiculous. Let go of me and I’ll answer you.’
Nicholas released her and Sophie rubbed her wrist, where the marks of his fingers were plain to see. ‘I wasn’t with “another man”, Nicholas,’ Sophie said quietly. ‘I was with my cousin Charles...’
‘He isn’t your cousin,’ Nicholas interrupted.
‘He is my cousin in every way,’ Sophie said. ‘He’s family and there’s no impropriety in my riding with him, especially as we were going to see the rector about my grandfather’s funeral.’
‘I saw you talking and laughing,’ Nicholas growled. ‘It wasn’t seemly.’
‘Nicholas, why are you talking to me like this?’ Sophie asked. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong and you know it.’
‘It’s because you’re my fiancée,’ he replied. ‘I don’t like seeing you flirting with other men. I love you too much.’
Sophie softened at once. ‘I was not flirting, Nicholas, and I love you too.’
‘Well, all right,’ Nicholas conceded ungraciously, ‘but I don’t like it, that’s all. When we’re married—’
‘When we’re married, you will have me to yourself,’ Sophie said with a smile. ‘We shall have each other.’
‘Yes,’ Nicholas agreed firmly. ‘Yes, we will.’
‘Why don’t you come indoors with me now and we’ll tell them we’re engaged?’
‘I’ll come back this afternoon,’ Nicholas said, taking her hand again and this time raising her fingers gently to his lips. ‘I’ve a patient to see first. Old Mrs Slater.’
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