“Then I am sorry I could not come sooner.” Mr. Hollingson smiled gently at her. His look was conspiring and sympathizing at the same time. A small, gentle smile played over Sophy's lips, drawing his attention to them. She saw him looking. The heat of his suddenly intense gaze drew a blush to her skin.
“Well, come on, old chap. Might as well come in, even though Freddy's gone,” Edward said. He had missed the look that passed between his sister and tutor.
Sophy was recalled to her manners. “Oh, yes, of course. Please come in, Mr. Hollingson.”
“Joshua,” he prompted her. Edward's gaze narrowed, clearly suspecting something.
“Joshua,” repeated Sophy, still blushing.
The two men came in and sat for a cup of tea. After he had finished, Edward declared that he would check on Freddy. He was halfway to the door when he thought to ask where his brother was. Sophy laughingly told him and then listened as yet another Wentworth stomped noisily around the house.
When the sound of his footsteps on the stairs had died away, a nervous silence remained. Sophy had not made eye contact with Mr. Hollingson since he'd entered the room. He finally put his cup down and moved to the edge of his seat. He was in a chair across from Sophy, who had seated herself on the sofa that Freddy had occupied since Wednesday.
“Miss Wentworth,” he began. “Sophy...” The sound of her name crossing his lips drew her attention to his face. He looked eager and anxious all at once. He tried to smile, but it came out crooked.
“Miss Wentworth,” he repeated. “I have something particular I would like to say to you.” Her breath caught in her lungs and so her “yes” came out almost as a gasp. Her emotion seemed to mirror his.
“Miss Wentworth, I...” he paused and his features worked. “I have meant to speak to you for some time now. But what happened the other afternoon...I...” Was he going to ask her? Or was he trying to tell her he did not feel that way about her. Sophy could hardly concentrate on what he was actually saying.
Mr. Hollingson cleared his throat, clearly nervous of what he was about to say. His speech came out in starts and stops. “... I have held you in high esteem ever since coming to this town. Right away I saw how you are a light to the people around you. And you have come to be a very dear light in my life, too.” He looked shyly at her. “But the other day...I … I... our embrace...” He was looking at her quite intently again. “When we... I want to protect you always. I want to love you.” He looked at Sophy directly, making sure she heard the significance of his words. “I do love you, Sophy.”
Her heart had gone from not beating to running as fast as a racing horse. She could hardly breathe. Mr. Hollingson loved her. This dear, caring, quiet man who treated her brothers so well. And he loved her. Sophy waited expectantly for his next words.
The two had been so focused on each other that they had not heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming toward them. So they were both startled to hear Papa's loud voice say, “Mr. Hollingson! I was not informed that you had come to call. But I am glad to see you. I have wanted to speak to you about the boys...”
Papa settled himself into the chair next to his guest and asked Sophy to fetch another warm pot of tea. He did not seem to realize that he had interrupted the most important conversation of her life. Sophy looked desperately at Mr. Hollingson as she left, unsure what else to do, unsure how to signal to her father that she and Mr. Hollingson needed to be alone again. There seemed to be nothing for it.
Chapter VII
There had been no time during the rest of his visit for a private word with Mr. Hollingson, for a time together to renew the significant conversation they had started. Her father – not realizing that his daughter's future happiness was in question – had monopolized all of his guest's attention with talk of how his sons were progressing. Mr. Hollingson had played his part valiantly, remaining attentive to her father's conversation. Papa had not suspected anything and they had passed a maddeningly normal evening.
All the while, her mind had been racing. What had Mr. Hollingson been about to say to her? And how did she feel about it? She was almost certain he had been about to offer for her. If that was so, he would try again. What would she say to him? She hardly knew him and yet... Yet his embrace had been thrilling. Would it always be like that?
Sophy's mind had been in such a whirl that she had not fallen asleep until the small hours of Saturday morning. She was still abed when a cry rang out from down the hall.
“Papa! Sophy! Come quick!”
It took a moment for the words to penetrate her heavy sleep. Sophy had trouble telling if they were in her dream, until she heard them again.
“Papa! Sophy! Come quick!” Edward sounded panicked. She heard her father's footsteps running as she took up her robe and flung open her bedroom door. The uncarpeted floor was cold on her feet as she ran down the hall, but she had no thought of herself, only of reaching Edward and finding out what was so desperately wrong.
Edward wasn't in his room. He and Papa were across the hall in Freddy's room. They looked distressed. Sophy peered past them into the darkened room. Surely Freddy hadn't taken ill during the night. He had been fine yesterday. Papa had said his bruised leg was healing nicely. So what could it be?
The question was answered as soon as her eyes focused in the early-morning gloom. It wasn't illness. It wasn't anything.
Freddy was gone.
The sheets on his bed were thrown back, as if in haste. Where Freddy should have been was a heap of pillows.
“What is this?” Sophy asked, hoping that her brother or parent could tell her what was happening. She seemed unable to comprehend.
Edward, almost hysterical, quickly told them what he had found. “I woke up and I thought to come see Freddy, see how he was. I called him from the door and he didn't wake up, so I came in and poked him. And... and he wasn't here. This is all I found!” Edward had stuttered through his explanation. He seemed to be at a loss, unable to know what to do. Sophy comforted Edward with a squeeze to his shoulder.
“Come, Edward, he will be around somewhere. He cannot have flown away. We will find him. And I am sure nothing has happened.” But she was not sure of her own words. What had Freddy done now? He had gone off before by himself. But never in the middle of the night like this. He'd always disappeared during the day. And they'd always found him in a secluded spot somewhere near the village.
They must look in these spots first. That was what needed to happen. Freddy must be there. Sophy was already forming a plan in her mind. She looked at Edward and Papa, who appeared terribly worried but unable to think what to do, and announced her plan.
“All right,” she said as cheerfully and commandingly as she could. She needed to get some spirit into them. “Here is what we shall do.” The other two almost comically snapped to attention, waiting for calm and collected Sophy to issue their marching orders.
“First, we shall all get properly dressed. We mustn't run around town in our underclothes. Then, we shall each search one of the streets in town, asking everyone if they have seen Freddy. I believe that someone must have seen him. Even if they have not, I am sure they will all help us search.”
Edward and Papa agreed that this was quite a competent plan and they all headed off to get dressed.
Once in her room again, Sophy grabbed a functional but not fine day dress and solid boots. Who could guess where she would have to tread today? If they were lucky, Freddy was only having a laugh and hiding nearby. He had done this before.
Sophy thought back to the last time. It had been at the beginning of summer. Freddy had run off after his lessons and not come home to supper. When it began to get dark, Sophy and Edward had gone in search of him, fearing that something dreadful might have happened. They'd found him behind the Old Mill on the other side of town. It had taken some convincing, but Freddy had eventually agreed to come home. The boy had run away because he was angry with his father, angry that he was being treated like a child.
&
nbsp; That must be it, Sophy thought. Freddy had been chafing all week at his father's lectures. They had yelled so that the whole of Milverton could hear them, arguing about Freddy not being responsible, not being ready for anything grown up. The latest fall had brought up all the old arguments again. Had he not been lamed by his ankle, Sophy suspected that Freddy would have run off much earlier in the week. Maybe his injury was in their favor. Freddy would probably still be limping. How far could he have gone? Hopefully, he was only hiding by the Mill again.
As she pondered where to begin the search for her brother, Sophy absently pulled on her stockings and boots. She grabbed a shawl and ran downstairs to their small front hall. Papa and Edward were pulling on their jackets.
“Last time he ran away, we found him at the Old Mill. I suggest we start there and work our way back through town,” Sophy added to her previous plan.
This they did. But Freddy was nowhere to be found. By the time they had made it back to the house, quite a crowd of people had assembled who were ready to help in the search. Groups were formed and they spread out across the town, heading in different directions. Sophy only prayed that someone would find Freddy. And find him safe.
Chapter VIII
A few miles before the turn in the road leading straight into Milverton, Connie had descended from his hired horse, not from any defect of mount or rider, but simply because it was a beautiful summer morning and he wished to have a slow ramble through the fields where he had played as a youth. No one in particular was expecting him and so the element of surprise would still hold whether he arrived now or later. He had already been delayed a number of days since the Pleasant had anchored in Watchet. The Admiralty did like its paperwork, and so he and Lieutenant O'Brian had been obliged to remain on board until everything was in order. But now he was free – for a few days at least – and looking forward to surprising his parents. He smiled at the thought. Oh, his mother would not know what to do with herself.
But before he began the round of visits, Connie wanted to enjoy the solitude of a long walk through the fields so familiar to him.
Solitude and space were both things difficult to come by in his profession. And so he had learned to take full advantage of them when he had the opportunity. This was not from a miserly or misanthropic instinct, but merely the enjoyment Connie had learned to take in everything that fell into his path. He knew himself to be a lucky man, and so he appreciated everything he was given. Things like lovely countryside mornings such as this. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.
The air smelled of grass and earth warmed by the sun. The sun felt somehow different here than when he was aboard ship. It was a sun of dry land and earth beneath his feet. Connie was glad he'd chosen to walk.
He'd already covered most of the fifteen mile journey from the port at Watchet on the coast. Only a few miles now separated him from Milverton, and he was determined to pass these on foot. In a few days, Connie and his crew would take the Pleasant to Portsmouth where she would have some minor refittings and repairs. But he would only be in Somerset, very far away from Portsmouth, for a few short days.
Connie was picturing the joy that would be on his mother's face when she saw him and so he did not immediately comprehend the unexpected sight that met his eyes when he turned the corner onto the Milverton road.
Walking toward him was what appeared to be a young man. Connie had time to observe that this young man was tall, perhaps in early adolescence. He was well-dressed, if somewhat lazily put together. He was walking slowly and with a decided limp. He appeared to be in some pain and, even at a distance, Connie would swear that he was muttering angrily to himself. The young man was headed in the opposite direction to Connie, but he was concentrating hard enough on the road in front of him that he did not see the captain approaching.
Connie's interest was caught. He could sense some mystery here. Where was this well-dressed young gentleman limping to at this relatively early hour of a Saturday morning? And where was he off to completely unattended by another soul or even mounted on a horse? Connie had long been in the company of young gentlemen on board his ship, had even been one himself once, and he had become a deft reader of adolescent moods. If he knew anything, he knew this young man was in a sulk, perhaps had even run away from home. That would explain the hasty look of his dress and why he did not seem to have any provisions with him.
Connie bit his lips together to keep from smiling. If it was as he suspected, if the lad had run away, he'd clearly not planned very well. And as there were no towns between here and Milverton, Connie had a pretty decent idea of where this ill-prepared youth had come from.
The two were only a few strides away from each other when Connie hailed the young man, startling him enough that he halted.
“Hello there, my lad. Might I ask you a question?” Connie's tone was friendly. A smile, as always, came easily to his lips. The young man studied him. Connie saw the look of dawning as the young man realized that Connie was a Navy man.
Connie knew that what the young man saw could be a rather imposing figure. A broad-chested, tall man wearing the blue and white coat of His Majesty's Royal Navy. The young lad seemed a touch overwhelmed at the picture before him. Connie was used to making an imposing first impression. And so he waited for the awe to pass and then forged ahead with his question.
“My lad, can you tell me if I am headed in the right direction to get to Milverton?” Connie, of course, knew the answer, but figured his question as the best way to get the lad talking.
“Umm...” he stuttered. “Milverton?” Connie waited patiently while he sorted his answer.
“Yes. Is this the right road?”
“Uh... yes, it is. Do you have business there?”
Connie smiled. A bold lad, this, to ask a stranger his business. And a bit suspicious. Although, Connie reasoned with himself, he probably would be the same, given the circumstances. So he answered the boy's question. “Why yes, I do have business there.” No reason to hide it. “I am going to visit my family. Are you from Milverton? Perhaps you know them?”
The young man was too intrigued to be shy. “I'm Frederick Wentworth. My father is the doctor in the town. Who are you?” His interest made him blunt. Connie did not mind. Such bluntness was expected on board ship and he appreciated it.
“Wentworth!” Connie's voice boomed out the name, becoming somewhat excited himself. “I know him well. He healed more than a few of my cuts and bruises when I was a boy. I'm Captain Conrad Croft.” He stuck out his hand toward the lad, who took it with a pensive look on his face.
“Croft? As in, the rector's son?”
“None other!” The two shook hands heartily, a camaraderie already building. Connie had left the town when this young man had clearly still been a little boy in leading strings.
“Now, Frederick, I am headed to town to surprise my dear mother and father on this fine morning. Where are you off to?” Connie hadn't forgotten his suspicions about the boy.
“Well, sir --”
“Connie, please. No formalities on dry land and in my own home town.”
“Connie --” Frederick began again, looking a little embarrassed, a touch of color rising to his cheeks. He wasn't looking at Connie. He seemed to be searching for words to tell his story. With each contortion of his face, Connie's suspicions of a runaway attempt grew stronger. The young lad was clearly struggling to find a good story to tell his new friend – one that would make him seem like a grown up man and not a petulant little boy.
Connie let him squirm a few moments longer before asking, “Who is she?”
Frederick looked startled. “I beg your pardon?”
Connie laughed. “There are few reasons a man rises earlier than he needs to, dresses himself, and walks miles from home. Since you were concentrating so heavily on the roadway, I must assume you are not simply out for a pleasant stroll through the beautiful morning-dewed country walks. So, therefore, I deduce that you are going to meet a lovely youn
g lady at the end of this road. Tell me the truth. She's a blond-haired little thing, isn't she? A sweet girl ready to give you sweet embraces under a dearly beloved old tree, am I correct?”
The boy thought this so utterly absurd that he laughed and spilled out the truth immediately, no longer quite as embarrassed as before. Connie's easy manner soothed him. “Not quite. I'm actually running away from home.”
“Oh, where to? Let's go there together. Running away sounds like a grand adventure.” Connie's eyes twinkled.
“I hadn't actually thought that far ahead, I guess.”
Connie acted as if he was severely disappointed. “Well, that's disappointing. I was ready for an adventure this morning.” He smiled kindly at the boy. “Why leave your house without a plan, Frederick? Seems a bit silly, actually. Not to have a plan for where to go or how to get there or what to do once you are there.”
Frederick shrugged, signs of his embarrassment returning. He had just been called silly by a grown man. “It is silly. I realized that about a mile ago. But then it became the principle of the thing, you know? I can't go back.”
“Of course,” Connie commiserated. He waited for Frederick to continue. Let the young man tell his story in due time. Connie had no doubt that he would tell it. Like most put-upon young men, he only wanted a sympathetic ear to listen to his troubles without judgment. In Connie's experience, most young men talked themselves out of their folly, given the right nudge in the appropriate direction and at the right time. Frederick had already done most of the work for himself.
“My father thinks I'm still a child, you see,” Freddy poured out his tale to Connie. He told the story of his fall into the well and the rows with his father. Many times the older man had to keep himself from smiling in recognition. He was a younger son. All fathers were doomed, it seemed, to repeat the same patterns. Connie wondered if he would remember this when he had his own sons. It seemed that he might also be destined to forget what it was like to be a young lad trying to discover his place in the world.
My Dear Sophy Page 5