“What in the name of all that is holy are you doing in my house?” he bellowed in a slight Scottish lilt.
“F-f-forgive me, sir,” Sophie said. “I was attempting to leave my aunt’s house without detection, and I noticed that your roof door was ajar—”
“And that’s how you knocked over my paint can?” he said loudly. “I’m calling the Watch.”
“Truly, I wasn’t trying to steal from you!” Sophie protested. “I was merely borrowing your roof to exit. Surely that isn’t a crime.”
“It’s breaking and entering.”
“I didn’t break anything, and I was exiting.”
He picked up a long wooden paintbrush and brandished it at her like a sword. “Lassie, don’t think you can escape that easily!”
“Calm yourself, Sir Thomas,” a lady’s voice said. A woman of middling years came up the stairs behind him. She was neither young nor slender, but undeniably pretty, with large brown eyes, a small nose, and a generous mouth. She wore an apron over her dress and her brown curls escaped from her lacy cap.
The woman smiled warmly at Sophie and gently took the paintbrush-turned-weapon out of Sir Thomas’s hand. “Let’s start again, shall we?” she said. “I am Mrs. Spooner, and may I introduce you to Sir Thomas Watergate, the renowned artist.”
Sophie executed a stiff bow. “I am Miss Sophie Carter … I’m Lady Bentley’s niece come to stay.”
“Aye,” Sir Thomas said, rubbing his chin. “You’re the one she’s trying to leg-shackle to any man under sixty with enough money to afford a chit of a wife with no expectations.”
“And how would you know that?” Sophie asked between clenched teeth.
“She paid me a call, seeing if I was interested in meeting you, lass,” Sir Thomas said, “and I’m right grateful I had the good sense to decline.”
“Not as grateful as I am.”
“Now, now, let’s not be uncivil,” Mrs. Spooner said with a barely suppressed smile. “Miss Carter, would you care for some tea?”
Sophie’s stomach grumbled loudly before she could answer.
“I’ll take that as a yes, dear girl,” Mrs. Spooner said. She took Sophie’s arm and led her down the stairs to a blue parlor, where she rang the bell and instructed a servant to bring tea immediately.
“Please sit, Miss Carter,” she said, graciously pointing to the chair beside her.
Sophie sat down and thanked her.
“Don’t be disturbed by Sir Thomas’s outbursts,” she said. “Geniuses rarely have even temperaments.”
A servant set down a silver tray on the table, and Mrs. Spooner poured tea into delicate white cups and matching saucers with pink and blue flowers.
“Is he really a famous painter?” Sophie asked.
Mrs. Spooner nodded. “His paintings are displayed in all the most famous galleries. And people pay him outrageous sums to paint their portraits.”
“The detail is so fine and precise on the grassy knoll,” Sophie said. “One can almost imagine oneself in the painting, walking through the wet grass.”
Mrs. Spooner set down her teacup with such haste that it spilled. “That’s it. Why did it not strike me before? Just the thing!”
And with that incomprehensible speech, she stood up and nearly ran out of the room, calling loudly for Sir Thomas.
Everyone in this house is stark raving mad.
Mrs. Spooner reentered the room with her lacy cap completely askew, dragging Sir Thomas by the arm.
“Look at her face, her hair, her form. She’s perfect for Joan of Arc,” Mrs. Spooner insisted.
Sophie colored under their mutual scrutiny.
“By George, you’re right, Prudie!” Sir Thomas said, squeezing her tightly and giving her a great smack of a kiss on the lips.
“Lady Bentley’s niece—” Sir Thomas began.
“My name is Sophie Carter.”
“Miss Carter, I’ve decided not to call the Watch, on the condition that you will pose for my painting as its model.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t have the time,” Sophie said matter-of-factly. “I’m currently looking for employment.”
“I’ll pay you a salary,” Sir Thomas said. “Better money than you’ll make at any shop in London for doing nothing at all.”
“What are you proposing to pay me?”
“Ten pounds.”
Sophie tried to hide her surprise by turning away. She’d never possessed any coin close to that much money before.
“Five pounds now,” Mrs. Spooner clarified, “and five pounds when the painting is completed.”
Sophie opened her mouth and shut it several times. She didn’t desire to sit still for hours and have her features memorialized in a fictional painting. On the other hand, ten pounds would enable her and Mariah to see more of London and maybe find a permanent place here.
“I’ll be your model … on one condition,” Sophie said.
“I hardly think you’re in any position to make conditions,” he retorted.
“Sir Thomas,” Mrs. Spooner said, laying her hand on his arm.
“My condition is that my sister, Mariah, who is an aspiring artist, will be allowed to come and study your painting technique as frequently as she wishes.”
“Bless me,” Mrs. Spooner said, touching her chest. “I didn’t know Lady Bentley had two nieces staying with her.”
Sophie swallowed. “I suppose that is the second condition. You can’t tell anyone that Mariah is also staying with Lady Bentley, because she doesn’t know.”
“Where is the poor girl?” Mrs. Spooner asked.
“We’re sharing a room, food, and clothing while taking turns being me.”
“How is this charade even possible?” Sir Thomas asked.
“My sister and I are identical twins,” Sophie explained. “Only a few people can tell us apart.”
“But why?” Mrs. Spooner asked. “It seems outrageous and entirely unnecessary.”
“My aunt would receive only one of us, and we didn’t wish to be parted.”
“Is that why you were using my roof, then?” Sir Thomas demanded.
“Yes,” Sophie admitted glumly. “Today Mariah is with my aunt, making more house calls.”
“Poor single gentlemen should be allowed their peace,” Sir Thomas interjected.
“Hush,” Mrs. Spooner said. “You poor dears. It’s no wonder your stomach was making such sounds. Well, Miss Sophie Carter, you are welcome to come eat any meal with us and use our house as an exit if you please. As is your sister.”
Sophie stood, overcome by Mrs. Spooner’s rare kindness. “There are no words—”
Mrs. Spooner waved her hand to stop Sophie’s gratitude. “Have a piece of cake, dear girl, and then we’ll go measure you for your armor.”
“Armor?!”
“You don’t suppose Joan of Arc fought in her petticoats, do you?” Mrs. Spooner said. “And we’d probably better get you a sword.”
* * *
“What I wouldn’t give to see you dressed in armor!” Mariah said between peals of laughter. “And with a sword!”
Sophie stuck out her tongue. “You’ll see me, but you must promise not to laugh. I’ve arranged with Sir Thomas for you to observe him painting. Maybe you can learn some new techniques.”
“Sophie, you didn’t!” Mariah exclaimed.
She shushed her.
Mariah clapped her hands over her mouth and danced about the room.
“Stop dancing and help me with my hair,” Sophie said.
Mariah twirled twice more before coming over and carefully brushing Sophie’s hair until it shone red and bright like maple leaves on an October day.
“Do tell me if you meet a young lady named Miss Penderton-Simpson.”
“What a mouthful of a name,” Sophie said. “Who is she?”
“Just some person.”
“If you want details, I’ll get details.”
“Very well,” Mariah said, pinning a curl in place. “Aunt Bentley
mentioned that Miss Penderton-Simpson has taken an interest in Charles.”
“Charles?”
“Lord Bentley told me that I could call him Charles,” Mariah explained quietly.
“If Miss Pender-whatsit fancies Charles, she must be as disagreeable as he is! Or she fancies becoming a baroness, I suppose.”
“Charles is not disagreeable.”
“Of course not, sister,” Sophie agreed dryly. “He’s merely condescending, insufferable, and sneering.”
“He can be kind,” Mariah said, stabbing the pin through another curl. “He’s the one who recommended those books for me that were written by ladies.”
Sophie turned to face her sister, her remaining hair falling in all directions. “Don’t tell me you like him, Mariah.”
Mariah flushed. “I-I-I never said that I liked him,” she stammered. “I only said that he can be kind.”
“When it’s convenient for him.”
“Stop teasing me, turn around, and let me finish your hair. Or you’ll be late for the dinner party with Mr. Miller, who you do like.”
Sophie obeyed and Mariah barely slipped in the last hairpin before she was summoned downstairs. She gave her sister a quick hug before joining her aunt and Charles in the grand foyer.
Aunt Bentley told her to stand still while she examined her attire and hair. Charles looked away and Sophie clenched her teeth but managed to remain silent. She was wearing a new white dress with a wide neckline, exposing her shoulders. The bertha, or decoration around the neckline, was made of white tulle, and the large skirt over her crinoline had three flounces. Aunt Bentley moved one curl forward over Sophie’s shoulder before declaring her presentable.
Charles signaled for Mr. Taylor to open the door. Sophie wished only that it had been earlier in the day, so that she might have seen the way to Ethan’s home. When they arrived, Sophie could tell that the house was tall and stately, but very few details beyond that with only the street gaslights to see by. They were ushered into an even greater entryway, where the ladies’ wraps and Charles’s hat were taken.
An older woman wearing an elegant silk gown of chartreuse, with six flounces and countless artificial flowers, came to welcome them. She was undeniably Ethan’s mother; her hair was the same blond but streaked with white. She smiled, and Sophie felt instantly welcomed and wanted.
To Sophie’s surprise, Charles actually smiled and embraced her.
“How we have missed you, Charles,” Mrs. Miller said as she lightly touched his arm. “I’m so glad that you are enough recovered to join us for dinner tonight.”
“If I were twice as unwell, I would not have missed seeing you,” Charles said, with a warmth Sophie had never heard in his voice.
Mrs. Miller nodded to Aunt Bentley and then took Sophie’s hand.
“Miss Carter, how lovely you look tonight,” Mrs. Miller said, squeezing her hand. “Come, let me introduce you to the other young lady of our small party.”
Sophie blinked; she’d forgotten that Mariah had already met Mrs. Miller. But she recovered quickly and followed her into a sumptuous drawing room. Ethan was talking to a young woman with dark brown eyes, mahogany-colored hair, and cream-white skin. There were more flowers in her hair than in a garden. She was dressed in an elegant pink silk dress with pearl beads embroidered in the bodice and short sleeves and wore dainty matching pink slippers. Sophie felt inferior in every way to this girl, even wearing the most beautiful dress she had ever worn.
“Miss Adaline Penderton-Simpson, may I introduce Miss Sophie Carter?” Mrs. Miller said.
Sophie gave an awkward curtsy, and Miss Penderton-Simpson gracefully dipped.
“Miss Carter, may I introduce my son, Mr. Miller?” Mrs. Miller said with a knowing smile. “And Miss Penderton-Simpson, I know that you are already acquainted with my nephew, Lord Bentley, and the dowager Lady Bentley.”
Everyone bowed, and Sophie felt a surge of hope when she saw Ethan coming to her side. He offered his arm and led her to a sofa.
“Miss Carter,” Ethan said in a low voice, barely above a whisper. “It seems an age since I last saw you.”
Sophie could not help but smile widely at this. The strange fluttering in her stomach began again.
“I confess, I’ve haunted the park hoping to run into you again,” he said.
She felt as if her face would crack if she grinned any wider. “I tried escaping only this afternoon through the neighbor’s roof exit,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “But I was caught. It all turned out for the best, however. I’ve found my first position.”
“Congratulations!”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Sophie said in a low tone. “I’m to pose as a model for a painting by Sir Thomas Watergate.”
“That’s corking!” Ethan said. “What an honor.”
Sophie blushed. “I’m actually getting paid, so it is a position. Not what I hoped for, of course, but I’m being paid, so I can’t be too picky.”
“Does Lady Bentley know?”
“No!” Sophie said, louder than she meant to. “Please don’t tell her.”
Sophie heard a rustle of skirts and saw Miss Penderton-Simpson coming toward them.
“You two seem to be having quite the conversation,” she said. “I’m afraid that I’m here to play gooseberry and sit between you.”
“You are welcome,” Ethan said, moving over on the couch to make space for her.
“How long have you been out, Miss Carter?” Miss Penderton-Simpson asked as she sat between them. “We haven’t met before, I’m certain. I wouldn’t have forgotten you.”
“Miss Penderton-Simpson, I don’t know whether to be flattered or slighted,” Sophie replied lightly. “I have been ‘in’ and ‘out’ of all sorts of places, but this is my first visit to London.”
“You are droll! Please call me Adaline,” she said. “‘Miss Penderton-Simpson’ is quite the mouthful, isn’t it?”
“And you may call me Sophie.”
“You’re named after Lady Bentley, I believe,” Ethan said. “She is your mother’s sister?”
Sophie nodded.
“Lady Bentley and your mother must have been very close for your mother to name you after her,” Adaline said.
Sophie shook her head. “My mother didn’t live long enough to name me or my sister.”
“You have a twin sister! How very fascinating,” Adaline said. “Do you look much alike?”
“Very much alike. You could say we are each other’s mirror,” Sophie said. “Have you any brothers or sisters, Miss—Adaline?”
“Alas, I’m an only child,” she said. “It’s quite uncomfortable because my parents have so many expectations of me. I wish I could spread them out between a sibling or two. Poor Lord Bentley has the same burden.”
“Mr. Miller?” Sophie asked.
“Four sisters,” Ethan said.
“All married,” Adaline interjected. “And all beautiful like Mrs. Miller … Oh, I think we’re lining up to go in to dinner. Pardon me, but I think I’ll try for Lord Bentley’s arm.”
With a rustle of pink silk skirts, she was off. Ethan stood up and offered his arm to Sophie.
“If only it could be so informal between the sexes,” Ethan said. “That within moments of meeting you I could call you ‘Sophie.’”
“You may call me ‘Sophie’ when we are speaking privately,” she said. “Half the time when people say ‘Miss Carter,’ I look to see who the lady is that they’re addressing.”
“Only if you call me ‘Ethan.’”
“Seems only fair,” Sophie said, and allowed herself to be escorted to the dining room. Ethan pulled out a chair between himself and Charles, who gave her a dirty look. She swallowed as she sat down and placed her napkin on her lap. This dinner party is going to be as pleasant as a hangnail.
“What were you and my cousin conversing privately about, Sophie?” Charles asked, suspicion in every syllable.
She bit her lip. Her first impulse was to tell
him to mind his own business, but she and Mariah were staying in his house, after all. “Only my sister.”
“Ah,” Charles said, his tone softening. “You must miss her greatly.”
Luckily, the staff began to serve the first course, for all Sophie could do was blink back at him—his mood swings were more violent than the sea. She took a few bites of the jardinière soup, followed by turbot, lobsters, and trout à la Genevoise. The servants continued to bring out more dishes until the table was laden with more food than the Ellises ate in a month. As she swallowed a bite of veal loin in béchamel sauce, she thought that perhaps Mariah was right. Charles wasn’t such a bad sort for a stuffy lord. In fact, she almost liked him as she listened to him converse merrily with Adaline, who sat on his other side.
Despite the din of conversation, she could hear a steady ticking sound. Sophie looked around the large dining room and saw a tall pendulum clock with Roman numerals on the face.
“What a beautiful longcase clock.”
“I wish I could say something interesting about it,” Ethan said with his ready smile. “But I’m sure you know more about timepieces than I do.”
“I had no idea you were interested in clocks, Sophie,” Charles said, his sharp eyes watching her closely. He spoke her name like an accusation.
Ethan pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat, showing it to Charles. “Miss Carter fixed my watch faster than you can say nanty narking.”
“I didn’t know you’d met before.”
Sophie choked on the red wine she was sipping. “I … well, uh … I mean, Aunt Bentley brought me over to meet Mrs. Miller and … and—”
“I happened to be home,” Ethan finished for her.
“Exactly,” Sophie agreed, placing her goblet on the table before coughing into her napkin.
“You have a great many interests,” Charles said. “Art, literature, music, and now mechanics. Is there nothing you don’t know something about?”
Sophie coughed once more. “Apparently, I don’t know how to swallow.”
Ethan laughed and signaled to the butler to bring Sophie more wine, but she wisely didn’t drink it. Even sober, she was having a hard enough time convincing Charles she was the same person as Mariah.
The Invention of Sophie Carter Page 6