“You’re married?!”
“Yes,” Mrs. Spooner said, grinning. “For more than a decade now. The poor man inherited a title, but not two ha’pennies to rub together. I was left pretty well off by the late Mr. Spooner—he was the one who bought this house and purchased all the furnishings.”
“Then why didn’t you introduce yourself as Lady Watergate?”
Mrs. Spooner waved her hand. “Who would ever believe I was a lady? Me, a milliner from Cranbourne Alley, putting on airs and pretending to be like her betters.”
“Do your friends know that you’re married?”
“We don’t have many friends,” Mrs. Spooner admitted. “Not surprising with Sir Thomas’s temperament, is it? But Sir Thomas has many colleagues and acquaintances.”
“What about your friends?” Sophie asked from across the room.
Mrs. Spooner flushed. “None, I’m afraid. I lost track of my friends from the milliner apprenticeship when I married the late Mr. Spooner. He was much older than myself and not particularly sociable.”
“How did you meet Sir Thomas?” Mariah asked.
“Now that story is rather funny,” Mrs. Spooner admitted with a smile. “My late husband commissioned him to paint a portrait of me.”
Mariah looked surprised, but Sophie laughed so hard that her armor shook.
“Stop moving!” Sir Thomas grumbled.
Sophie laughed even harder and Mariah finally laughed, too.
FOURTEEN
I’M NOT AFRAID OF ANYTHING or anyone, Sophie reminded herself. And certainly not of the Trentons.
She placed the pocket watch into her reticule; it was time to return it, even if she would miss the timepiece. It had been her secret treasure and her only tie to her past life with the closest thing to a real father she’d ever known.
She took a long breath in and out.
Adell knocked on her bedroom door. “Mr. Miller is here to pick you up for your call, Miss Sophie.”
“I’m coming,” she said, and wondered where Mariah was, hoping that they were not both “out” in the house.
Something was bothering Mariah. She was becoming secretive and quiet—even more so than usual—slipping off without telling Sophie where she was going. But there was no helping it now. Ethan was waiting.
Sophie put on her new stylish hat with its profusion of feathers. (She thought it looked like a dead bird on her head, but Aunt Bentley insisted it was the latest of fashions.) She tied the ribbon underneath her chin and winked at herself in the mirror.
Ethan stood at the bottom of the stairs, smiling up at her. Sophie offered him a gloved hand, and he bent his head over it.
“Ethan Miller, is that you?” Aunt Bentley demanded from the hall as she entered the foyer.
“Yes, it is, Lady Bentley,” Ethan said. “I’m taking Miss Carter to see the Trentons, who were so kind to her and her sister when they were children.”
“Curious that they did not keep them,” Aunt Bentley replied coldly.
“Mrs. Trenton told us that Captain Trenton was in poor health and wished to see Miss Carter,” Ethan explained. “Surely it is Sophie’s Christian duty to visit the sick.”
Aunt Bentley contemplated this for a moment, her mouth pursed to one side. “One does not wish to be derelict in our charitable duties. Besides, if he really is doing poorly, perhaps he will leave you and your sister something in his will.”
Sophie felt the heat rush to her face but managed to contain her fury. “Money is so very important, is it not, Aunt Bentley?” she said bitingly.
Ethan took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before placing it on his arm. “We should not keep the Trentons waiting, Lady Bentley.”
Mr. Taylor opened the door and Ethan steered her out of the house and into the carriage, directing his coachman to 743 Jordan Street before climbing in beside her. Sophie sat quietly for several minutes.
“It is very kind of my aunt to let me stay for a few months,” Sophie said at last. “And she purchased all of my clothes.”
“She has certainly been an exemplary guardian and treated Charles more like a son than a ward,” Ethan added.
“I wish I could like her better.”
“So do I.”
Sophie laughed. “Oh dear, I was so close to saying all sorts of things that I shouldn’t. It was a good thing you were there, my friend. You saved me from myself!”
“I would save you from anything, including yourself,” Ethan said, looking at her with a light in his eyes that filled Sophie up with hope and despair. She avoided his gaze by patting down the wrinkles on her skirt.
“Well, you’ve had fair warning, friend,” she said. “You might need to save me from myself again very soon. Mrs. Trenton and I didn’t get on very well when I was a child, and something tells me that she hasn’t changed.”
“Perhaps not,” Ethan said. “But I think we should always give people a chance to change for the better and hope that they give us the same chance.”
“Well, I haven’t jumped in any mud puddles today and my hair is tidy, so she might not find fault with me.”
“I don’t know how anyone could find fault with you.”
The carriage came to an abrupt stop, and Sophie grabbed his hand tightly. “Please don’t leave me alone with her.”
“I will be at your side the entire time,” he reassured her, gently squeezing her hand back.
Jordan Street was not quite as fashionable as the white buildings of Hyde Street, but it was still a respectable road. Brown brick buildings lined it with countless long, rectangular windows.
Ethan tapped the knocker of number 743 twice. A male servant wearing black livery answered the door, and Ethan gave him his card.
“Mr. Miller and Miss Carter to see Captain Trenton and Mrs. Trenton.”
The servant bowed. “This way, if you please, sir.”
For once, Sophie actually did need the physical support from Ethan’s arm. They walked up a flight of stairs and were taken to a green sitting room with a large fire blazing in the brick fireplace. Mrs. Trenton stood up at once and welcomed them. She was dressed in a somber gown of black bombazine with a black lace mantilla over her shoulders. An old man with white hair sat in a large chair by the fire wearing a nightcap, and his shoulders were covered in four or five shawls. Sophie gasped when she recognized Captain Trenton. He looked so different, as if he had shrunk to half the size of his previous self.
“Forgive me if I don’t stand,” Captain Trenton said in a weak voice. “I’m afraid that I cannot without assistance.”
“Of course, sir … Captain,” Ethan said, with a bow. “Allow me to introduce myself: I am Mr. Ethan Miller, a friend of Miss Sophie Carter.”
“Won’t you both sit down?” Mrs. Trenton said, and motioned toward an emerald-colored sofa. “I hope you will not find the room too hot, but the captain gets chilled very easily.”
“We’re perfectly comfortable, thank you, Mrs. Trenton,” Ethan said.
He looked at Sophie, who had yet to speak. He opened his eyes expressively and tilted his head a fraction toward the Trentons.
“Captain Trenton, I have something to return to you,” Sophie said, pulling the golden pocket watch from her reticule. She caressed the front engraving softly before standing and walking toward him with her hand outstretched. “I promised to return it to you when you came home from sea.”
He looked up at her intently and then placed his gnarled hand over hers. “Some voyages you don’t return from the same. I would be honored if you were to keep it, Sophie. I mean, Miss Carter. Although, I’ll always think of you as my little Sophie.”
Sophie pressed her hand to her cheek and felt something damp through her glove. She was crying.
After all these years without so much as a misty eye, here she was crying, and freely.
Captain Trenton tightened his hold on her hand. “Mr. Miller, would you be so kind as to bring a chair closer? I should like Sophie to tell her papa everything he’s m
issed.”
“That might take some time,” she said with a sniff.
“Time is our greatest gift, and our greatest curse,” Captain Trenton said, his own eyes full of unshed tears.
Ethan appeared at Sophie’s side with a chair and a handkerchief. She accepted both from him gratefully.
“Tell me about Mr. Ellis,” Captain Trenton said. “He was once in the navy as well, was he not?”
“Yes, he was in charge of the ship’s chronometer.” Sophie glanced at Ethan and explained, “The ship’s clock. He was wounded in an engagement in South America and never recovered his health. He returned to Lyme Regis and opened a clock shop.”
“Was he kind to you?”
“He was not unkind,” Sophie replied hesitantly. “He cared only for his next dose of laudanum or a visit to the tavern. We were primarily in the care of his wife.”
“Was she kind?”
“No,” Sophie said. “But she did her duty by us. She taught us how to work and how to take care of ourselves. Perhaps … that is better than being kind.”
Mrs. Trenton stood up abruptly. “I will see about refreshments.” She left the room with a swish of black skirts.
“I didn’t know,” Captain Trenton said in an imploring voice. His dark blue eyes stared at Sophie intensely.
“About what?”
“That she was going to send you away,” he said quietly. “I returned eighteen months later from a voyage around the world to discover my daughters were gone.”
“Didn’t Mrs. Trenton write to you?”
Captain Trenton shook his head. “I received only two letters during that time, and there was no mention of you or your sister. I thought it was strange, but I didn’t think much about it at the time.”
“Why did you not come to get us then?”
He heaved a sigh. “I wanted to, Sophie, but it’s hard for a man to interfere with the domestic choices of his wife. I had just been promoted to a larger vessel, and I was about to leave again on another voyage. I was afraid if I brought you home, she would just send you away again as soon as I left. She threatened to.”
“Perhaps you realized that with a son, you no longer needed foster daughters,” she said bitterly.
Captain Trenton reached out his hand for Sophie’s, but she pulled hers away.
“I love my son, Sophie. I love you, and I love Mariah. I only wish I could see her one last time. I have always thought of you and Mariah as my daughters, not my foster daughters. The greatest regret I’ll be taking to my grave is that I didn’t come for you. That I didn’t at the very least make sure that you were with people who were kind. I hope someday that you can forgive me.”
Sophie dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief and blew her nose. She looked into the tired eyes of the man who was the only father she had ever known. She shook her head slightly. “I don’t forgive you … but I still love you. That’s the best I can say for now.”
Captain Trenton began to cough harshly. His face turned red and he covered his mouth with a handkerchief. When he took it away it was covered in bright red blood.
“How long have you been ill?” Sophie asked.
“I returned from the Indies six months ago, and I knew that my next voyage would be the one that no sailor returns from.”
“What have your doctors said?” she demanded. “Is there no treatment?”
He gave her a small smile. “I have drunk the waters of Bath and the draughts of a half dozen country doctors and been physicked by three prominent London physicians. My time will soon be up. But I know all about me. I would like to hear about you. My wife surprised me when she told me that you were staying with your aunt, Lady Bentley.”
“She’ll only allow me to stay for one season. She means to find me a husband,” Sophie scoffed.
Captain Trenton lifted his gnarled hand and pointed to Ethan. “I don’t think that will be very difficult. It seems like Mr. Miller here is more than ready to fill the position, are you not, Mr. Miller?”
“Papa!” Sophie exclaimed, blushing.
“I am content to be her friend,” Ethan said, giving her a reassuring look.
Mrs. Trenton reentered the room, followed by the same servant who had escorted them into the house. He was carrying a large silver platter with a teapot, cups, and a three-tiered stand filled with cakes and biscuits. He set the platter on a table in the middle of the room. Mrs. Trenton sat down stiffly and mechanically poured the tea, looking like a woman about to be judged by a navy tribunal rather than a wife entertaining her guests in the sitting room. As Mrs. Trenton rose and handed out the teacups—first to the captain, then to Ethan, and then her own—Sophie felt a strange sort of satisfaction seeing her discomfort.
Captain Trenton took a small sip of the hot liquid. “Now, please tell me about Mariah.”
“Same as ever. Very good, obedient, and tenderhearted. She’s taken up novel reading, and whenever one of the fictional characters dies, she weeps as if they were a real person. And there’s no persuading her that she’s wasting her tears, that it’s all pretend. She’s also been practicing her drawing and has been corresponding with the art critic, Mr. John Ruskin. He’s been giving her lessons via letters.”
“So our Mariah is a painter. And what about you, Sophie? Are you still going to be captain of a ship?”
Sophie shook her head. “I would like to be an inventor. I learned a lot about clocks and mechanisms while living with Mr. Ellis.”
“Pity,” Captain Trenton said, as he shook his head. “You’d have made a fine captain. Still, I hope you’ll allow me to give you my old telescope. Parsons, please hand Miss Carter the box from the mantel.”
The servant bowed to the captain and did as he was asked. She opened the box, and there lay the golden telescope that she had wanted so badly for Christmas so many years previously.
“Thank you,” she said warmly. “I will treasure it.”
“May it allow you to see a new perspective in the world around you,” he said. “And help you on all future journeys.”
Captain Trenton began to cough again. When it abated, he leaned his head back against the chair, clearly tired. Their visit had taken much of his energy.
Sophie stood up. “We must go. Thank you so much for the tea, Mrs. Trenton.”
She returned the teacup and held out her hand to Mrs. Trenton, who shook it tentatively. I don’t have to forgive her, but I do have to be civil to her. Then she walked back to Captain Trenton, placed a soft kiss on his cheek, and then saluted him. Without looking at Ethan, she walked to the door, afraid if she turned around, she might begin crying again.
Parsons opened the door for her, and Ethan followed her down the stairs and out of the house. Ethan didn’t speak as he helped her into the carriage and handed her the box that held the telescope. Sophie cradled the telescope’s box more gently than she’d ever cradled the doll with the pink ribbons.
“Mariah would’ve forgiven him,” Sophie said quietly. “She would’ve forgiven them both.”
Ethan lifted his hand as if to touch her, but he seemed to think better of it and let his hand fall back to his knee.
“I hope you don’t think less of me for being honest,” she said wetly.
He shook his head. “No, I don’t … I think more of you for your strength in visiting people who so greatly wronged you.”
Sophie leaned toward him and softly pressed her lips to his cheek. “Thank you for coming with me.”
FIFTEEN
MARIAH CAREFULLY BEGAN TO SKETCH the lines of her sister’s face onto the canvas, painting Sophie looking forward—fiercely meeting whatever was in front of her. Then Mariah dipped the brush into the paint and began stroking the lines of her own face. She’d drawn herself left of Sophie, her eyes facing away from her sister and off the canvas. They were opposites, and she had drawn them as such, from their facial expressions to their clothing: Her own dress was a soft white, the neckline reaching up to her chin, and Sophie’s dress was a contrasting bl
ack that left her neck and shoulders exposed.
Mariah looked at her sister, standing in front of Sir Thomas dressed in her Joan of Arc armor. Sir Thomas’s painting was nearly complete. On the canvas before him, as large as life, stood Sophie in full armor: solemn, stern, and strong.
Yesterday, Sophie had visited the Trentons. She’d told Mariah all about it and Mariah felt so jealous of her sister.
Why did Sophie get the opportunity to visit their foster parents?
Sophie, who hated them, while Mariah still loved them. Sophie, who had sat with them, talked with them, and touched them. Sophie, who could tell Mariah anything, and Mariah, who could tell Sophie nothing—certainly not of Charles and seeing a real monkey and an elephant. She hated that Sophie made things happen, and she only let things happen.
If not for Sophie, Mariah would still be in Lyme Regis changing nappies or married off to the butcher’s son with the leering eyes. Mariah knew she should feel grateful, but today she didn’t feel any gratitude. She continued to paint, her anger seething within the repetition of the brushstrokes.
One stroke for anger.
One stroke for jealousy.
One stroke for hate.
Mariah embraced these darker emotions that she had never before allowed herself to feel, and they flowed through her fingers and onto the canvas in front of her.
“Shall we break for tea?” Mrs. Spooner asked.
“Please,” Sophie said, and placed her wooden sword on the table.
“Another break?” Sir Thomas complained.
“I know, dear,” Mrs. Spooner said, taking his paintbrush and palette.
“Aren’t you coming, Mariah?” Sophie asked over her shoulder.
“I will when I’m ready,” Mariah snapped. “Don’t tell me what to do. You always tell me what to do!”
Everyone turned to look at Mariah. She felt the heat rise from her neck and seep into her cheeks.
“Mrs. Spooner and Sir Thomas, why don’t you start down to tea?” Sophie suggested lightly. “Mariah and I will follow in a few minutes.”
The Invention of Sophie Carter Page 13