Sophia's Secret

by Susanna Kearsley

Standing in the yard there by herself she felt a moment’s panic, and it spurred her on to lift her skirts and run, as reckless as a child, toward the great door through which Moray had just passed.

  Inside, the sudden dimness left her blind, and she collided with the figure of a man. It was not Moray.

  ‘Cousin,’ said the Earl of Erroll, in his pleasant voice. ‘Where would you seek to go in such a hurry?’

  ‘Do forgive me,’ said Sophia, with the hand that held the gloves behind her back. ‘There is a ship…’

  ‘The Royal William, aye. I am just come to find you, as it happens, since my mother does inform me that the captain of this ship does take an interest in your welfare, and will surely wish to see you in attendance with the family when he comes ashore.’ His smile was kind, and teasing as a brother’s. ‘Do you wish to change your gown?’

  She smoothed the fabric with her free hand, conscious of the dust from riding, but her fingers, when they reached her waist, recalled the warmth of Moray’s hand upon that place, and suddenly she did not wish to change her gown just yet, as though by doing so she stood to lose the memory of his touch. ‘I thank you, no,’ she said, and clenched her hidden hand more firmly round the leather gloves she held.

  ‘Then come.’ The earl held out his arm. ‘We will await your Captain Gordon in the drawing room.’

  The countess joined them there some minutes later. ‘Mr Moray,’ she announced, ‘agrees to keep to his own chamber till we know that Captain Gordon comes alone.’

  ‘’Tis wise,’ her son agreed. ‘Though I am not so sure that even Captain Gordon should be introduced. Are you?’

  ‘He is a friend.’

  ‘Five hundred pounds is yet five hundred pounds,’ the earl reminded her. ‘And lesser men have turned for lesser fortunes.’

  ‘Thomas Gordon is no traitor.’

  ‘Then, as always, I must bow to your good judgement.’ With his hands laced at his back, he crossed to stand beside the window, looking out toward the ship now anchored off the shore. ‘I see the Royal William does no longer fly the white cross of Saint Andrew on the blue field as its flag.’

  His mother came to look. ‘What flag is that?’

  ‘The flag of the new Union, with the crosses of St Andrew and St George combined,’ her son replied, his voice hard-edged with bitterness. ‘Which means that our Scots navy is no more.’

  ‘Ah, well.’ His mother sighed. ‘’Twas only the three ships.’

  ‘Aye, but those three ships were our own,’ he said, ‘and now they, too, are lost to us. I wonder if our friend the Duke of Hamilton appreciates the price that has been paid that he may keep his lands in Lancashire.’

  Sophia, while they talked, had been deciding what she ought to do with Moray’s gloves, still clutched within her hand. She did not think the countess or the earl would take exception to the fact that she’d been riding with the man, but they might question why she was now in possession of his personal accessories. Not seeing any place where she could easily conceal the gloves, she sat, and tucked them safely underneath her on the chair.

  She was still sitting there when Captain Gordon was announced.

  He strode into the room with all the swagger she remembered, handsome in his long blue coat with the gold braid and polished buttons gleaming bright against the fabric. Greeting first the countess, then the earl, he came across to take Sophia’s hand and raise it to his lips as he bowed low before her, smiling with great charm. ‘And Mistress Paterson, I trust you have recovered from your late attempt at horse-racing?’

  ‘I have, sir, thank you.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’

  As he straightened and released her hand, the earl asked bluntly, ‘Do you come alone?’

  ‘Aye. Captain Hamilton is yet some hours behind me.’

  ‘Then,’ the countess said, ‘you will have time to dine with us, I hope.’

  ‘I should be honoured.’ Looking at her levelly, he said, ‘I was informed that you might have another visitor.’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘I came as soon as I was able.’ Before saying more, he glanced towards Sophia, and the earl, observing this, remarked, ‘You may feel free to speak when Mistress Paterson is with us, as you’d speak were we alone. She has our confidence, and trust.’ And with these words the earl moved forward so he stood beside Sophia’s chair, with one hand resting on it as a mark of his endorsement. ‘Colonel Hooke arrived some days ago, and is now gone to make a progress through the country, treating with our well-affected nobles. But he has left with us another, who, should you desire it, will be able to acquaint you with the mind of our young king.’

  Captain Gordon frowned. ‘Who is this person?’

  From the doorway, Moray’s voice said calmly, ‘I believe he speaks of me.’ Then, to the countess, ‘Ye’ll forgive me, but I did see clearly from my chamber window that the captain came ashore alone.’

  The captain’s eyes were slightly narrowed as with recognition. He said, ‘Your servant, Mr…?’

  ‘Moray.’

  Certain now above the handshake, Captain Gordon said, ‘I do believe we met three years ago, before your father’s death.’

  ‘I do recall our meeting.’ Moray’s voice, though even, held no warmth, and sounded to Sophia’s ears a little like a challenge.

  Captain Gordon, having thought a moment, said, ‘At the time, as I remember, you were in the service of the King of France.’

  ‘Aye. I serve him still.’

  ‘And was it he who ordered you to Scotland, with a price upon your head?’

  ‘’Tis not a soldier’s place to ask who gives the order,’ Moray said. ‘My duty but demands that I do follow it. I could no more have refused to come than ye could have refused to hoist the Union flag upon your mast.’

  The countess, stepping in, said, ‘Thomas, Mr Moray does well understand the many dangers of his being here. ’Tis why he did decide it best that he remain with us at Slains.’

  Her voice, as always, calmed the waters. Captain Gordon said to Moray, ‘I did not mean to suggest that you were reckless.’

  ‘Did ye not?’

  ‘No.’ With a charming smile, the captain added, ‘And you are quite right – were it my choice, I would not sail beneath the Union flag. In confidence, I may not sail beneath it long.’

  The earl asked, ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I may soon be obliged to quit the service.’ Captain Gordon’s shoulders lifted lightly in a shrug that held regret. ‘In consequence of the Union, I soon shall be required, as will all officers, to take an oath of abjuration which demands that I renounce King James, and say that he has no right to the throne.’

  The countess said, ‘Oh, Thomas.’

  ‘I have worn this uniform with pride for many years, but I do not intend to now betray my conscience,’ Captain Gordon said. ‘I will not take the oath.’

  ‘What will you do?’ the countess asked him.

  Captain Gordon glanced again at Moray, and for a moment Sophia was afraid he might be thinking, as the earl had feared, of those five hundred pounds, and of the life of comfort they might buy him. But the captain’s thoughts were something different. He said, ‘If I did believe the French king would accept my service, I would gladly sail my frigate straight to France at the first notice of his pleasure.’

  Stepping round Sophia’s chair, the earl reminded him, ‘It may well be that you shall find yourself in service to the King of Scotland, if God favours us.’

  ‘Then let us hope for that.’ The captain turned his thoughts to other things. ‘What has become of the French ship that did deliver Colonel Hooke and Mr Moray to you?’

  The earl replied, ‘We did desire the captain of that ship to sail to Norway, and return to us in three weeks’ time. It is our hope you will be able to avoid him.’

  A faint frown settled on the captain’s handsome face. ‘I can but promise you I will appear no more upon this coast for fifteen days, and I do beg you to contrive that your Fren
ch captain should not stay long in these seas, for if we meet too frequently I do not doubt but that young Captain Hamilton, who sails behind me in the Royal Mary and shares not my loyalties, will grow suspicious. As indeed,’ he added, ‘will my crew. I have on board my ship an officer, three sergeants, and three corporals and two drums, along with forty-one good sentinels, who must remain with me for the duration of my cruise. To keep so many men in ignorance,’ he said, ‘will not be easy.’ After thinking for a moment, he went on, ‘The last time Colonel Hooke did come to Slains, I gave to his ship’s captain certain signals to display, that I should know him if we met upon the seas. Do you remember them?’

  The earl looked less than certain, but the countess nodded. ‘Yes, we have them still preserved.’

  ‘Then, if you will communicate those signals to the captain of your French ship when he does return, I will try to avoid him, should we meet.’ That said, he turned and let his smile fall warmly on Sophia. ‘But our talk, as always, grows too dreary to amuse such gentle company. And I would rather hear of Mistress Paterson’s adventures here at Slains.’

  She saw the countess smiling, too, appearing pleased by the attention that Sophia was receiving from the captain.

  ‘Sir,’ Sophia said, ‘I have had no adventures.’

  ‘Then,’ he told her, ‘we must see that you do have some.’

  Moray stood and watched without expression, but Sophia felt the weight of his grey eyes upon her, and she felt relief when a young maid appeared within the doorway to announce that dinner was now ready to be served.

  But her relief did not last long. The captain offered her his arm. ‘May I escort you?’

  She could not have told him no without offending nearly everybody present, so she nodded, rising, but she had forgotten Moray’s gloves, beneath her. When she stood, one fell, and Captain Gordon bent to pick it up. ‘And what is this?’

  Sophia could not think of what to answer. Trapped, she kept her eyes intently on the floorboards while she tried hard to compose a fitting explanation, but before she found the words, she saw two boots step casually in front of her as Moray crossed to take the other glove from the chair on which Sophia had been sitting.

  ‘I did wonder what became of these,’ said Moray.

  ‘They are yours?’ asked Captain Gordon.

  ‘Aye. Ye surely did not think that they belonged to Mistress Paterson, with hands so small as hers?’ His tone dismissed the notion of her having been connected to the gauntlets, but it did not keep the captain from regarding him with keener interest, as a swordsman might assess the strength of a new challenger.

  The captain smiled thinly. ‘No.’ And raising up Sophia’s fingers in his own, he said, ‘Such hands as these would want a softer covering.’ He handed back the second glove to Moray. ‘You must take better care, in future, where you leave these, else you’ll lose them.’

  Moray said, ‘No fear of that.’ He took the glove from Gordon’s hand, and folding it together with the other, tucked them both into his belt. ‘I do not lightly lose the things that are my own.’

  And having said that, he stepped back to let Sophia pass on Captain Gordon’s arm and with the faintest smile fell in behind them.

  Chapter Twelve

  There, I thought, with satisfaction, printing off the pages I’d just written. Now Sophia’s love life was as messed up as my own. Just as I’d had to deal with Stuart’s coming back, she’d have to deal with Captain Gordon, though admittedly John Moray had reacted to the challenge rather differently than Graham had. The benefit, I thought, of writing fiction was that I could twist my characters to do the things real people never did in life.

  The printer finished humming and I shut down my computer, arching back against the chair to stretch my shoulders, arms upraised.

  I didn’t know what time it was. It had been light outside my windows for a while now, but the sky was flatly grey and there was no way I could judge how high the sun had climbed behind the clouds.

  I only knew that it was morning, and I hadn’t been to bed, and all I wanted was a piece of toast, a glass of juice, and several hours of sleep. So when the shadow of a person passed my window, my first impulse was to let the knocking go unanswered and pretend I wasn’t home. But curiosity won out.

  ‘I’ve brought you lunch,’ said Stuart, standing on my doorstep with a winning smile and something wrapped in newspaper that smelt so good my stomach flipped. It wasn’t exactly a peace offering, since Stuart, I felt certain, didn’t realise he’d done anything to warrant one – but in return for fresh-made fish and chips, I might forgive him for the trouble he had caused me.

  ‘Come on in.’ I pushed the door wide. ‘Your timing’s amazingly good, by the way. But it’s breakfast, for me.’

  Stuart arched a dark eyebrow. ‘It’s nearly twelve-thirty.’

  ‘That late?’

  ‘D’ye never go to bed?’

  I took the fish and chips from him and crossed to the kitchen while he shrugged off his coat by the door. As I parcelled the food out on plates, I explained, ‘I got into the flow last night. I didn’t want to stop.’

  His eyes danced as though I’d just made a dirty joke. ‘That happens to me sometimes. Not with writing,’ he admitted, with a Casanova smile, ‘but it does happen.’

  Indulging him, I let the double meaning slide and handed him his plate. ‘You’ll either have to eat it standing up, or sitting by the fireplace,’ I apologised. ‘There’s no room on the table.’

  ‘So I see.’ He chose an armchair, settling back and nodding pointedly towards the mess of papers that was covering my writing table. ‘How far along are you, then?’

  ‘Maybe a third of the way, I don’t know. I never know how long a book will be until I’ve finished it.’

  ‘Don’t you don’t work to a plan?’

  ‘No. I’ve tried, but I’m no good at it.’ My characters refused to be contained by any outline. They were happiest when charting their own course across the page.

  Stuart grinned. ‘I’m not much good at planning either. Graham’s the organised one of the family.’ He glanced at me. ‘What did you think of him?’

  ‘Graham?’ I opened the door of the Aga and prodded the coals with a bit too much force before saying, ‘I thought he was nice.’

  ‘Aye, he is that.’ My bland choice of words had apparently satisfied Stuart. ‘The only time I ever saw him lose his manners, to be honest, was when he played rugby. And even then I don’t doubt he apologised to everyone he stomped on.’

  I’d been right, then, thinking Graham was an athlete. ‘He played rugby?’

  ‘Oh, aye, he almost went professional.’

  Clanging the Aga door shut, I crossed to join Stuart, my plate in my hand. ‘Really?’

  ‘Aye, he was recruited, had the papers nearly signed, but then Mum died, and Dad…well, Dad, he didn’t do so well. And rugby would have meant that Graham had to live away, so he just turned the offer down,’ he said, ‘and stayed at university until they took him on there as a lecturer. I’d not say that it would have been his choice, but then, you’d never hear him moan. He’s too responsible. He sees his job as taking care of Dad, that’s all. He comes up every weekend to look in on him.’ A sideways glance, and smile. ‘He’s given up on taking care of me.’

  I could have told him no, he hadn’t, but I kept my concentration on my plate. ‘He’s never been married, I take it?’

  ‘Who, Graham? He’s never come close.’ His initial amusement changed, slowly, to something approaching suspicion. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered.’ To soothe his pricked ego, I asked, ‘What about yourself? Ever been married?’

  Back on his own favourite subject, he shook his head. ‘No, not yet.’ And unable to pass up the chance for a play, he said, catching my gaze with his own, ‘I’ve been waiting to find the right woman.’

  I didn’t swing at that pitch either. ‘How was London?’

  ‘Murder. It’s a busy time for
us. I’ll be off again tomorrow night, to Amsterdam, and then from there to Italy.’

  In scheduling at least he seemed to match my novel’s Captain Gordon, turning up just long enough to have an impact on the plot before he dashed away.

  He started telling me about what he’d been up to in London, but I was only half-listening, trying to hold back a yawn that brought blood drumming loudly inside my ears. Stuart, not noticing, carried on talking, and although I tried from politeness to follow along, I was fading, and fast, as my long night of no sleep caught up with me. Resting my head on the chair back, I nodded at something that Stuart was saying.

  And that was the last thing I really remembered.

  The next thing I knew I was waking up, still in my chair, and the armchair that faced me was empty. The daylight had faded to dusk. As I moved, I discovered that Stuart was more of a gentleman than he would likely have cared to admit – he had taken a spare blanket out of the cupboard and covered me with it, to make me more comfortable. And when I made my way into the kitchen and opened the fridge, I discovered my half eaten fish and chips still on the plate, sealed with cling film, and waiting for me to reheat them for supper.

  However irritated I had been with Stuart yesterday, there simply was no way that I could go on being mad at him when he did things like this. Nor could I muster more than faint exasperation when, a little later, Dr Weir phoned up and started off with, ‘I ran into Stuie Keith coming out of the Killie, and he said he’d left you fast asleep, and so I thought I’d best call first.’

  Trust Stuart, I thought, to put his own twist on what had happened. But I was glad to finally hear the doctor’s voice.

  ‘I’ve been away a few days,’ he said, ‘visiting my brother, but I’ve done a bit of reading on the subject of genetic memory and I’ve found a few things that might interest you. I could come round right now, if that’s all right?’

  It was more than all right. I’d been waiting to talk to him, wanting to hear his opinion on what I’d discovered in Edinburgh. There wasn’t anybody else I could talk to about it, really – no one else who’d listen in the patient, non-judgemental manner of a trained physician and be able to discuss things from the medical perspective.