Meant To Be: Pendleton Manor Book 1 Page 9

  “The money was a loan,” Sophy insisted. “You can prove it. Can’t you, Father?”

  He stared back at her. “A gentleman’s agreement,” he muttered.

  “A gentleman? He is no gentleman!”

  He broke in on her bitter words. “We need to pack. Sophy, take what you can. The mail coach is your best option. I have enough money for the journey. Go to your aunt …” He stopped himself, as if a thought had occurred to him. “No, best not go there. I don’t know what she will do now that the money is not forthcoming. Go to London. Your grandmother in Lambeth. Her address is in my desk. We will decide from there what to do.”

  Sophy didn’t move, staring at him, still struggling to believe this was happening to them.

  George closed his hand over hers and squeezed tight. “Sir Arbuthnot means what he says. You need to act quickly.”

  “Are you sure my grandmother will take me in?” Sophy whispered. “I can’t remember the last time I saw her.”

  He closed his eyes. When he opened them again they were full of resignation. “Yes, Susan Jamieson will take you in. She always wanted you. At least that is one good thing I can say about her. In the meantime I will find a way of putting forward my case, and when the truth has been revealed and my name cleared, then we will be together again. Perhaps something can still be salvaged from this if we make it clear that you will marry Arnold.”

  Sophy shook her head. “I am not marrying Arnold, Father. I was never marrying Arnold.”

  Slowly the frown lines in her father’s face deepened and his mouth turned down. He took a step forward and rested heavy hands on her shoulders.

  “What did Sir Arbuthnot mean when he said to ask my daughter? Sophy, what have you done?”

  She looked up at him, remembering the night with Harry and all their promises. Someone had seen them, that was what Sir Arbuthnot meant. Someone had seen them and told him, and he had sent Harry away and then waited. Like a spider, patiently sitting in its web, for the right time to strike.

  “Harry is going to marry me. Only one more year he said, until he is twenty-one, and then he can defy his father. See, I have his ring?” She pulled it up and held it toward them, dangling from the ribbon. “Harry will help us, I know he will. I need to write to him at once and tell him what has happened. Father, where is a pen and paper—”

  Her father shook his head as she tried to turn away. “You stupid girl,” he said, but it was without heat. All the life seemed to have been drained from him. “Can’t you see? That is what all this is about. I promised to take you away from Harry Baillieu and Sir Arbuthnot gave me money in return, and now he knows his son has pledged himself to you.”

  He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  Fingers trembling she unfastened the ribbon and he took it from her, slipping it into his pocket. Tears were warm on her cheeks. “I’ll tell Harry what’s happened. He’ll come and-and …”

  “He won’t help us, Sophy. Sir Arbuthnot will see to that. I don’t know what he promised you … what you gave him,” he sent her a look of sorrow, “but Harry will never marry a girl like you.”

  He closed his eyes and when he opened them they held a glimmer of hope. “Perhaps I can reason with Sir Arbuthnot. Explain you will still marry Arnold and—”

  Even as Sophy shouted out her defiance, the sound of a horseman approaching caught their attention. “The constable,” her father said bitterly. “Too late.”

  Sophy refused to believe what was happening. Her life could not be ending like this. All because she had dared to love Harry. He would save her, he would save them all! But Harry was far away, and by the time he learned what had happened her father would be in prison, and she would be on her way to London. Sir Arbuthnot had planned this with masterly precision.

  As she stood, arms curled about herself, crying and shaking, George Harcourt was arrested and, still protesting his innocence, taken away to the village lockup until the magistrate could see him.

  It took time, but eventually Sophy turned back inside the house and began to throw together what she could into a trunk. She was not able to take everything, but she hoped the remainder could be boxed up and sent on to her grandmother’s house.

  This cottage had been her home for sixteen years, since her family arrived from Audley Farm, with hopes of a new start. There had been sad times, such as when her mother died, but there had been happy ones too. Now here she was, leaving in such an irrevocable manner.

  You stupid girl.

  Her father’s voice echoed in her head. This was her fault. She had dared to love Harry and dream of a future with him, and because of that she had drawn the wrath of Harry’s father down upon her family. She wanted to repair the damage but she didn’t know how. If Adam was still here then he may have helped, but he had gone back to his regiment. Her only hope was writing to Harry—she knew he was at Langley Hall. Once he found out what had happened then surely he would come to her?

  Sophy was able to persuade one of the estate workers to use his wagon to take her and her luggage into the village to wait for the coach. Once there she left her belongings at The Black Sheep and hurried to the school where she taught. The headmistress was appalled by her story, but if she had hoped for sympathy or at least a fair hearing then she was mistaken.

  “I think it best you leave at once,” she said, eyeing Sophy as if she had grown two heads. “Your father will need your support during his trial. Maybe he will be transported to New South Wales.” She stared at Sophy, both of them silently contemplating such a dreadful fate.

  “It won’t come to that,” Sophy insisted. Harry will know what to do. He will help us, I know he will.

  But she heard her father’s reply in her head. He won’t help us, Sophy. Sir Arbuthnot will see to that. I don’t know what he promised you … what you gave him, but Harry will never marry a girl like you.

  She refused to believe it. Even when the headmistress made it clear she would not be writing a reference for Sophy. “Sir Arbuthnot would not like it, and you know we are beholden to him. He owns this village.”

  Of course he did and everyone in it was reliant upon the Baillieus. Sophy was beginning to realise just how powerful Sir Arbuthnot was, and how ruthless he meant to be when it came to Harry’s future.

  She still wrote a letter, pressed it into the woman’s hands and asked her to see that Harry received it. But she knew it would never reach him, she could see in the hard line of her mouth that she had no intention of passing it on.

  As she climbed aboard the mail coach, and they rumbled off over the uneven road, Sophy kept telling herself that Harry would know what to do. He loved her and he would find her and then everything would be all right. She had to believe that.

  Chapter 10

  SOPHY

  1810-1812, Susan Jamieson’s house, Lambeth, London

  Once Sophy reached London she went directly to her grandmother’s house. Her father had been right, and she was welcomed with open arms. Her grandmother helped her discover where George Harcourt was being held, and then sent a servant to the prison to reconnoitre.

  The situation was dire. George had been transferred to Newgate Prison and was awaiting trial, and in the meantime he was in need of clothing and food, and visits from his daughter. For the next year Sophy did her best to keep his spirits up as the trial they had hoped would set him free failed to do so. George would not hang, ironically Sir Arbuthnot had asked for clemency, but he would be transported to the penal colony of New South Wales.

  “You have not heard from your aunt?” he asked her. His eyes had sunken into their sockets and Sophy wondered if he ever slept. Perhaps you did not sleep in prison if you did not want your belongings to be stolen by the other inmates. She dreaded to think how her father would manage when he was far away.

  “She wrote back to me only once and you have seen that letter.”

  Aunt Anna was disappointed that the money to buy back Audley Farm was not forthcoming. Of course Arnold coul
d not marry Sophy now. He would look elsewhere, for a respectable girl with a good dowry. Although Aunt Anna was very sorry to hear of their troubles they really could not expect her to put her son’s future in jeopardy by linking her name with theirs.

  “I was a fool,” her father said.

  “No you weren’t.” Sophy clasped his hand in hers. “You wanted the best for me. How were you to know that Sir Arbuthnot would be so ruthless?” She took a shaky breath, and then wished she hadn’t when the foul miasma of the prison entered her lungs. “It is I who should be sorry, Father. I have written to Harry so many times but I doubt he receives my letters.”

  “Sir Arbuthnot would see to it that he doesn’t.”

  Sophy had had no choice but to send them to Pendleton after the one she sent to Langley Hall was returned unopened. The Pendleton letters were not returned but neither were they answered, and she knew he had not received them because if he had then Harry would have answered her. She had inquired at Adam’s barracks, and was told that his regiment had left for Spain. She even tried some of her old classmates in the village, but they did not answer either. The Harcourts were caught up in a terrible scandal and everyone believed the story Sir Arbuthnot had spread. Even if they didn’t, they were too wary of the powerful Baillieus to risk embroiling themselves in Sophy’s troubles.

  For a moment she and her father sat in silence. When Sophy was about to leave, her father took her in his arms, and she was glad to see him smile.

  “I am sorry I embroiled you in this,” he said. “I should have listened when you told me what was in your heart. Do you still love Harry?”

  “Yes, I do. And I know if we could only speak he would help us. You would see what a fine young man he is and how different from his father.”

  “You don’t have to convince me, my dear. If you love Harry then he must be a fine young man.” He hesitated and then went on, “I have sent a letter to Sir Arbuthnot.”

  “I thought you were never going to write to that man, Father!”

  “I’m not. I am writing to Harry, in a roundabout sort of way, only his father will not realise it. You’ll see. If my plan works as I hope it will and Harry is the sort of man I believe him to be, then he will be with you very soon, my dear.”

  “Oh Father, I hope you are right.”

  Sophy wanted to believe him and her spirits were lighter that day, as she left the prison. Sadly her happiness was brief. That was the last time she saw her father. He caught a fever and died a week later.

  “My poor Sophy,” her grandmother cried, wrapping her in loving arms.

  Susan Jamieson was a revelation to Sophy. This strong woman barely came up to Sophy’s chin, but she was so full of life. And with her long grey hair, bright blue eyes and knowing smile, it was evident that she had lived an eventful life.

  Sophy had no hesitation in telling her grandmother the whole story. How she and Harry had been deeply in love, and how Sir Arbuthnot had turned on the Harcourts. She had sobbed on her grandmother’s lap, relieved to finally have someone to confide in, while her grandmother stroked her hair and murmured words of comfort. She had cried herself into exhaustion, and Grandma Susan had told her that what Sir Arbuthnot had done was cruel and heartless, but the blame was entirely down to him.

  “You loved a boy and I think he loved you,” she said in a practical voice. “Neither of you could know what the consequences would be. This was not your fault, Sophy.”

  The guilt lingered for a time, until she decided it was best to put it aside, as her wise grandmother advised, and concentrate on the future. Because despite everything that had happened she still believed she had a future with Harry. Foolish as it may seem, her entire heart was given to him, and she still dreamed of living out her days with him at Pendleton. She could not let it go. She would not. Somehow she would find him again and make her dream come true.

  “It’s a shame for such a beautiful girl to have only old people for company,” Sir Geoffrey Bell declared.

  Sophy refused to blush as the old gentleman’s twinkling eyes fell upon her. “I couldn’t wish for better company than this,” she said.

  It was true. Since her father died she spent much of her time with Grandma, and often Sir Geoffrey when he came to call, or squire them to some play or musical event. Long ago, in the dark distant past—according to Grandma Susan—Sir Geoffrey had taken a much younger Susan Jamieson as his mistress. She had been recently widowed with two small children, and although Sophy suspected her grandmother’s choices were limited, she had chosen wisely. Sir Geoffrey loved her, and she was fond of him. Now, well past the age where passion ruled their lives, they were still firm friends.

  Grandma’s home was far from ostentatious. She lived in Lambeth, one of the less fashionable areas of London, but Sophy couldn’t have been more comfortable. If it wasn’t for her yearning for Harry, she would have been prepared to make a permanent life with her grandmother and Sir Geoffrey Bell.

  Despite Sophy’s lack of a letter of recommendation, Sir Geoffrey had arranged for her to take up teaching work in the parish. It wasn’t the same as the academy, not nearly as prestigious, but Sophy didn’t mind. The children of the poor were still children, and she felt she was helping them to aspire to something more than a lifetime of mindless toil for little reward. When she heard of Sophy’s talents, one of Grandma Susan’s neighbours asked for private lessons for her daughter, the child currently unable to attend classes.

  “She is recovering from influenza and must rest,” the mother explained, “but I don’t like the idea of her being behind with her schooling.”

  There were two more children, an older boy and a baby, and when Sophy discovered the father was a journeyman tailor, whose work often took him away from the home, she offered to help the mother in other ways.

  “You have no idea how much more cheerful we’ve all been since you came along, Miss Harcourt.” The young father had arrived to find supper cooked and on the table, and his wife well rested. He had offered to see Sophy to the door and thanked her profusely for her help. He was carrying the baby in his arms as they stood on the doorstep.

  Sophy smiled up at him. These parents were barely older than herself and struggling to support their family, and yet they seemed happy. It was a reminder that one did not need a fortune to find joy in life.

  “I am glad to help,” she assured him, and reached out to touch the baby’s soft cheek. At the same time the child began to kick his legs wildly.

  “My wife will have her hands full with this one when he begins to walk.”

  “Or run,” Sophy said, and they smiled at each other.

  The father looked past her and frowned. “Who is that?” he said in a sharp tone.

  Sophy turned her head, but she could see no one. The street was usually quiet and today was no different. A horse was tied to a railing and a man had just turned down a narrow alley between some houses.

  “That man was watching us,” he went on, seeing her puzzled expression. “I thought he might have been up to no good. There have been one or two burglaries recently. Although he seemed too well dressed to be the type…”

  Sophy said her farewells and returned to her grandmother’s house. Sir Geoffrey was coming for supper and conversation between her two favourite elderly people was always amusing.

  Although lately they had been stuck on the idea of finding Sophy a husband, and she wasn’t particularly pleased about that.

  “You are wasting your time,” she had said last time, bringing to a close a discussion about the merits or otherwise of a wealthy relative of Sir Geoffrey’s. “I will never forget Harry and he will never forget me. How can I abandon him? You know that Sir Arbuthnot forced me to leave Pendleton and I know he has stopped Harry from reading my letters. Now that he’s reached his majority he will be able to do as he likes. He’ll find me, you’ll see. I know he will.”

  Her grandmother had allowed her to hold on to her beliefs. At first she had been sceptical, wondering alou
d whether such a young man could really be so steadfast. After listening to Sophy’s passionate defence of Harry, she began to come around to Sophy’s point of view, despite their worrying lack of contact from him.

  “You are a romantic, my dear,” Sir Geoffrey interrupted with a fond smile.

  “My granddaughter is young. You are allowed to be romantic when you are young,” her grandmother countered.

  “Although I want nothing more than to see Sophy’s wish come true, I am more inclined to a practical view. I know how the world works.”

  Grandma’s smile faded into a more serious expression. “Out of sight, out of mind,” she said. “I’m afraid that is the way with most young gentleman. Now you have been removed from his sphere, Sophy, you are very much out of his mind.”

  Before Sophy could protest Sir Geoffrey went on. “Could we return her to his sphere? I know you think that once he sees you again it will all come back to him. He will remember how much he loves you. He’s certainly now old enough to defy his father. I wonder why, then, he has not come? I think we can set aside the thought that he is unable to find you, Sophy,” he added with a sympathetic look. “A man with his means could find anyone.”

  Sophy felt that familiar hollow ache flare up inside her. Sometimes she could go for days without feeling it, but it never went away completely.

  “He is now a grown man and he will know his own mind and be able to follow it,” her grandmother was thinking aloud. “His father may still forbid him, but he can choose to ignore his father.”

  “Although there are always consequences in going against one’s parent.” Sir Geoffrey said softly, fond eyes on the two women seated together on the sofa.

  “He knew that,” Sophy protested. “He said he would marry me anyway.”

  “Marriage,” Grandma tapped a fingertip on her chin. “That may be the sticking point, my dear. A man like Harry and a girl like you, it is not unheard of but it is rather scandalous.” Then she smiled at Sir Geoffrey, as if the thought of scandal was a titillating subject.