Miss Mary’s Daughter Page 2

  ‘A shop!’ The redoubtable Hannah was horrified. Having come to look after Sophie as a baby and continued with the family ever since, she had very definite ideas of what was right and fitting for her beloved Sophie and she was never afraid to speak her mind. She did so now. ‘That’s not what your ma would have wanted, Miss Sophie, and that’s a fact. A shop girl indeed, the very idea.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got to do something,’ Sophie pointed out reasonably. ‘I can’t afford to go on as I am.’ Reaching out, she took Hannah’s hand and said gently, ‘But whatever I do, Hannah, I’m afraid you’ll have to find another position.’

  Hannah stiffened. ‘You’re never turning me off, Miss Sophie? Not after all these years.’

  ‘Oh, Hannah, dear Hannah, of course I’m not,’ Sophie cried. ‘It’s just that I can’t afford to pay you any longer, and from now on I’ll have to fend for myself.’

  ‘That you will not, Miss Sophie,’ Hannah asserted hotly, ‘not while Hannah Butts is here to look after you. It isn’t proper for a young lady to live alone. Don’t you worry about wages. We’ll manage.’

  ‘But, Hannah dear, I can’t take you with me if I go for a governess,’ Sophie said gently, touched by Hannah’s determination.

  ‘Then you’d better not go for one,’ returned Hannah stoutly. ‘We’ll get by, Miss Sophie, you’ll see.’

  But Sophie was not so optimistic. She knew that despite Hannah’s determination to do without wages, they would be hard pressed to live on the tiny income they had left, and secretly she began to scan the advertisement columns of ladies’ magazines to find a suitable family seeking a governess.

  ‘After all,’ she said to Hannah, ‘it’s not as if I’m not well educated. Both Papa and Mama were determined that I should go to a good school, and even when Papa was killed and money was tight, Mama insisted I stay on. I could teach small children to read and write, to learn their numbers, perhaps a little history and geography. I love children. I know I could do it, if only someone would give me a chance.’

  ‘’Course you could,’ Hannah said encouragingly, ‘if you had to. But maybe it won’t come to that. Never know what’s round the corner, do we?’

  Sophie was pretty sure she did know what was round the corner, and it wasn’t very much. They certainly couldn’t afford the rent of the little house where they’d lived ever since she could remember. Come quarter day they would have to move.

  She set out to find lodgings of a cheaper sort, but the rooms she could afford were so dreary and depressing, she didn’t commit herself to any of them, though as the days dragged by, she realized miserably that she must make a decision, and make it soon. How she wished her mother were at hand to advise her, or that she had a close friend in whom she could confide. She considered going back to Mr Phillips with her problems, but hesitated, and finally decided against it. He would tell her to sell Mama’s necklace, or worse, her wedding ring, neither of which she was prepared to do... at least not yet. So, short of lending her money, there was not a lot that Mr Phillips could do. Sophie was determined not to get into debt, but unless she found work of some sort soon they were going to be out on the street. With only Hannah for company in those dark days, her spirits sank lower and lower.

  She had answered several advertisements in ladies’ magazines, families looking for a governess, but had only been invited for interview once. That interview had been extremely short. Lady Carson of Ovington Square had taken one look at Sophie and decided against her. Her fifteen-year-old son, Rupert, was at such an impressionable age and here was Miss Ross, perfectly acceptable from the answers she gave, but too attractive by far with her dark auburn hair, her delicately clear skin and fine dark green eyes. Her pale beauty, of which she seemed entirely unaware, was set off by the severe black of her mourning. To have such a person living in the house with Rupert, and indeed her own husband, Henley, would be tempting providence. Lady Carson looked down her aristocratic nose, bid Sophie good morning and sent her away.

  ‘Lady Carson didn’t find me suitable,’ Sophie told Hannah when she returned from the unsuccessful interview. ‘It looks as if I may have to try and get work in a shop after all. I’ve got to find something.’

  ‘Woman must be mad not to give you the job,’ sniffed Hannah, secretly pleased that she hadn’t. ‘Can’t see a good thing when it’s right in front of her, if you ask me. Any answers to your own advertisements yet, Miss Sophie?’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘Still, as they only went in this week, we must give them time.’

  Sophie had advertised her services as a music teacher, offering to work in the pupils’ own homes, teaching piano, singing and music appreciation. Her fees would be low, but with these to supplement her tiny income she and Hannah might just manage, provided they found the cheap lodging they’d been seeking.

  It was Hannah who found a place eventually, two rooms in Putney, with a private parlour and the use of a kitchen.

  ‘It’s not much, Miss Sophie,’ she said sadly. ‘But at least it’s clean and the woman there seems a decent sort of a body. A Mrs Porter. She tells me too that there is a seminary for young ladies down the road, which might need a music teacher.’

  Sophie went to see the rooms and to meet Mrs Porter, who led her upstairs to view what might become her new home. The two tiny bedrooms, cramped and dark with small windows, looked out onto a backyard filled with an accumulation of junk and a privy standing against the wall. The parlour faced the narrow street and the blank wall of a factory opposite, but at least it was south-facing and blessed with sunshine for much of the day. The kitchen was downstairs and they would have to provide their own pots and pans, but there was a stove that could be used by arrangement.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Miss Sophie,’ Hannah said as she surveyed what it had to offer. ‘I’ll arrange with Mrs Porter for our cooking. We’ll manage.’

  With great reluctance, Sophie agreed to take the rooms and paid two weeks in advance to secure them. It was the best they could do and they arranged to move in at the end of the quarter. Sophie also approached the girls’ school Mrs Porter had mentioned, explaining to the rather formidable principal, Mrs Devine, that she was looking for work as a music teacher. Mrs Devine looked at her critically and with a sniff, regretted she was in no need of a music teacher at present, adding as she rang the bell to have Sophie shown out, ‘You’re too young for such a position, Miss Ross, scarcely older than my girls themselves.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind if I couldn’t do the job properly,’ Sophie complained bitterly to Hannah over a cup of tea when she got home again, ‘but they never ask me to play or anything, so they’ve no idea if I’m any good or not. They always use my age as an excuse.’

  ‘Never mind, Miss Sophie. It’s their loss, that’s what I say. We’ll manage, you’ll see. Now you just relax over your nice cup of tea, and I’ll run down to the market and find some good fresh vegetables to go with dinner.’

  Hannah disappeared down the road and Sophie wandered from room to room, to make final decisions as to which of her parents’ cherished furniture and other possessions she would have to part with.

  ‘For we’ve no room in Putney for Mama’s bureau or Papa’s chair, or the grandfather clock. Still,’ she had told Hannah, trying not to sound too depressed, ‘I’ll keep the piano because I’ll need that, and if we sell the other things it’ll give us a little more money.’

  With the house silent, she stood motionless in her mother’s bedroom. She’d known no other home and now she was about to leave it.

  ‘What else could I do, Mama?’ she asked aloud, and as misery and frustration overtook her, she flung herself onto her mother’s bed and wept. Gradually her sobs subsided, and exhausted by the tensions of the last few weeks and her bout of weeping, there, on the bed, her head pillowed on her arms, Sophie drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  2

  Trescadinnick was in turmoil. Thomas Penvarrow had had some sort of seizure. One minute he had bee
n walking through the hall on his way to the stables and the next he had crashed to the floor, taking a chair and the chenille cloth from the hall table with him.

  AliceAnne, aged six, who had been in her habitual hiding place beneath the table, found herself staring at her great-grandfather’s red face only inches from her own. She let out a piercing scream which brought the housemaid, Edith, scurrying from the morning room where she had been clearing the breakfast table. Seeing the master lying on the floor, eyes closed, breath rasping in his throat, she added her screams to AliceAnne’s.

  Charles Leroy emerged from his office as his mother, Louisa, came rushing from the kitchen. He took one look at Thomas and shouted for Paxton who, having heard the commotion, was already running to the scene.

  ‘Send Ned for the doctor,’ Charles ordered, ‘quick as you like. Then come back here and help me get Mr Penvarrow up off the floor.’

  Paxton dispatched the stable lad for the doctor and then he and Charles managed to lift the dead weight of Thomas Penvarrow off the floor and carry him into the drawing room. They eased him down onto a sofa and Charles, reaching forward, pulled off the old man’s cravat and loosened his collar.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, girl,’ Louisa snapped at the still wailing Edith. ‘Stop that dreadful caterwauling and take Miss AliceAnne to Mrs Paxton.’ Then, turning to her granddaughter, she said more gently, ‘No need to cry, AliceAnne. Be a brave girl and go to the kitchen with Edith. I’ll come and find you in a little while.’

  Her briskness had the desired effect and clamping her jaws on her screams, the maid took the child by the hand and led her through to the kitchen.

  Summoned by Ned the stable boy, Dr Nicholas Bryan arrived not twenty minutes later. He had been about to set out on his rounds and the pony was already put to the gig. He strode into the house to be greeted by Charles Leroy, who held out his hand and said, ‘Ah, Dr Bryan, thank you for coming so quickly.’

  He led the young doctor into the drawing room, where Thomas was still lying on the sofa, his eyes now open though unfocused.

  Dr Nicholas Bryan looked down at the old man for a moment, and then kneeled beside him to lay a hand on his forehead and to take his pulse.

  Thomas stared up at him, his mind befuddled, and for a moment he thought he was looking at his son, Jocelyn.

  ‘Joss?’ he muttered, before his vision cleared and he recognized the young doctor who had recently taken over the practice of old Dr Marshall.

  ‘Stay still now, sir,’ Dr Bryan said, ‘and let me look at you. Do you know who I am?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ Thomas’s voice was a husky whisper. ‘I’m not stupid, young man.’

  ‘Now, Papa,’ Louisa said, ‘you had a fall and Dr Bryan has come to make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ Thomas said, trying to sit up, but as he did so his head swam so violently that he lay back, gasping.

  ‘Stay lying down for a while and then we’ll get you up to your bed and make you comfortable.’ Dr Bryan turned to Louisa and Charles and went on, ‘He needs to be kept still and quiet for several days, with nothing to worry or alarm him. Once we’ve got him to his bed I’ll give him something to make him sleep.’

  ‘Don’t discuss me as if I wasn’t here,’ Thomas growled, though he made no further effort to sit up. ‘I’m not in my dotage.’

  ‘Certainly not, sir,’ agreed Dr Bryan cheerfully. ‘And if you do as I tell you, you’ll be up and about again in a week or two.’

  With Paxton’s help, they managed to get Thomas up the stairs and into his own room. Though not prepared to admit it, he was relieved to be in his own bed. With a bad grace, he drank down the draught that the doctor prepared for him and after a short while lapsed into sleep.

  ‘Thank you for coming so quickly, Doctor,’ Louisa said as they went back downstairs. ‘Is there really no danger to my father?’

  ‘It’s difficult to tell,’ replied the doctor. ‘He’s an old man, and these things happen as one gets towards his age. They are unexplained. Sometimes they recur; others they never happen again. It is important that you keep him quiet for the next week or so until we are sure that he has recovered. Light foods, broth, a little fish, but no meat or potatoes or puddings. Try not to let him get upset or angry about anything. That is always an added risk in such cases.’

  Charles gave a wry smile. ‘Easier said than done,’ he murmured.

  Louisa offered the doctor some refreshment, but he shook his head. ‘Thank you, Mrs Leroy, but I should be getting out on my rounds now. I have several visits promised for today. However, I shall look in on Mr Penvarrow on my way home, just to reassure myself that there is nothing more I need to do at present.’

  With a smile and a handshake, the doctor picked up his hat and walked out to his waiting pony and trap.

  ‘He seems to know what he’s doing,’ Louisa said as she watched him drive away. ‘Though I wish we still had Dr Marshall. He knew us all so well, and was always so reassuring.’

  ‘He was an old man,’ Charles said. ‘Old-fashioned in his ways. We’re very lucky to have Dr Bryan to take his place. Not many young doctors would want to bury themselves in a small place like Port Felec.’ He smiled at his mother. ‘I don’t think we need to worry about my grandfather, but perhaps I’ll send Ned over to Aunt Matty and suggest she comes over to see him.’

  ‘You really don’t think he’s dangerously ill, do you?’ Louisa sounded concerned.

  ‘No, Mother, but even so I think we should let Aunt Matty know what’s happened.’

  Matty arrived at Trescadinnick before the morning was out. ‘Tell me what happened,’ she said to Louisa as she strode into the house, carrying a capacious bag which indicated that she’d come to stay. ‘Ned gave me some garbled message about Papa, so of course I came at once.’ She dropped her bag onto the floor. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We don’t know exactly,’ replied Louisa. ‘He had some sort of seizure, and collapsed onto the floor. We sent Ned for Dr Bryan, but by the time he got here Papa was coming round. We got him into his bed and the doctor gave him a sleeping draught, so he’s asleep now. He’s to be kept quiet and not to be angered or upset.’

  ‘That won’t be easy for you,’ Matty said, ‘especially if the doctor insists on him staying in bed! So, he’s going to be all right?’

  ‘Dr Bryan thinks so, provided he doesn’t have another attack.’

  Matty looked across at her sister. ‘What’s he like, the new doctor?’

  ‘Personable enough. He was very efficient, rather matter-of-fact. He doesn’t have the comfortable bedside manner of Dr Marshall, but he’s coming back again later, to see how Papa is doing. If you stay you can meet him then.’

  ‘Of course I’m staying,’ Matty replied, unpinning her hat. ‘I plan to stay at least tonight.’ She laid her hat down on the table and as she did so she saw an envelope lying on the brass plate where the delivered post was always placed. She stared at the letter for a moment and then said, ‘Louisa, when did this arrive?’

  ‘What?’ Louisa had already turned to go to the kitchen.

  ‘This letter. It’s addressed to Papa.’

  Louisa shrugged. ‘This morning’s post, I suppose. What about it?’

  ‘I just wondered. He hasn’t opened it.’

  ‘It must have arrived while we were getting him to bed,’ Louisa said. ‘I didn’t hear the postman. Edith must have taken it in.’ Louisa disappeared to tell Edith to prepare a room for her sister, leaving Matty standing in the hall, turning the letter over and over in her hands. The address was right, Thomas Penvarrow, Esq., Trescadinnick, Port Felec, Cornwall. It was the handwriting that had caught her attention: Mary’s... or very like Mary’s. Could it really be from Mary after all this time? Matty hadn’t seen or heard from her twin since the day of their brother Joss’s funeral. Mary had returned to Cornwall on that sad day and though their father had ignored her presence, Matty had been delighted to see her. They’d had plenty of time
to talk before Mary had to leave to catch her train back to London. Though she had given Matty an address to write to, none of the letters Matty had sent received a reply and at length she had stopped writing. Perhaps Mary had moved, or perhaps her father’s attitude at Joss’s funeral had decided Mary that the break was now complete.

  Recently, however, she had found herself thinking more and more of Mary, wondering how she was. She’d had a sense of disquiet, a feeling there was something wrong; nothing definite, just a nagging worry at the back of her mind, and now, suddenly, here was a letter. How would her father react to a letter from Mary, the first for over twenty-five years?

  Thomas Penvarrow was still asleep when the family sat down to luncheon in the dining room. When they had all been served, and Edith had returned to the kitchen, Matty said, ‘There was a letter for Papa this morning.’

  Louisa glanced up. ‘Yes, you said so earlier. It can wait. We don’t want to worry him with letters now. It can’t be that important.’

  ‘I think it might be,’ Matty said. ‘I think I know who it’s from.’

  Louisa looked shocked. ‘How? You haven’t opened it, have you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ snapped Matty. ‘It’s addressed to Papa.’

  ‘Then he can open it when he’s feeling better,’ Louisa said firmly. ‘Dr Bryan was insistent that we shouldn’t worry him with anything for the next few days.’

  ‘I think it’s from Mary.’ There, she’d said it.

  ‘From Mary?’ Louisa stared at her with incredulity. ‘What makes you say so?’

  ‘It looks like her handwriting.’

  ‘Looks like?’

  ‘I think it is.’

  ‘Well, if you’re right, we certainly can’t give it to Papa yet, if at all.’ Louisa was adamant. ‘That would definitely upset him.’

  ‘Why would Aunt Mary write to my grandfather after all these years?’ Charles spoke for the first time. He had no recollection of Mary, who had left when he was still a small child, and was intrigued.