The Secrets of Sophia Musgrove Page 12

  'Well, Lucy of course. And her sister, Catherine, I think,' I began. 'And as for gentlemen, most of the handsome ones, I believe. But I hope that Mr Hughes is nowhere in sight, or I might just throttle him,' I said.

  'Excuse me, miss, for interfering, but why do you hate him so? He's a very fine man, it seems to me,' said Lily.

  'Lily! You do not know him. He has betrayed me! He told Papa about the debate that I attended, and about the march I wanted to go on – which caused me to miss it,' I explained.

  'But, Miss Sophie, there might be another explanation for how your father came to know about the march . . .' said Lily slowly.

  'Such as?' I asked. 'I can't think of any!'

  'You see, I'm sorry to say . . . I – I think I should tell you something,' Lily stammered.

  'Lily what are you talking about?' I asked, turning around to face her. 'I don't understand.'

  She looked down at her hands. 'I'm afraid it was me what told your father of that march thing. I was worried about your safety, miss . . .' she said.

  I didn't respond. My heart was racing and I felt a mixture of confusion and anger.

  Lily carried on. 'You see, Sid told me that you and Miss Lucy nearly died at the docks, and I heard you talking about the march, and I thought—' She stopped as I rose from my stool.

  'Lily! How dare you meddle so! And how could you betray me to Papa? You had no right to listen to my private conversations and then pass information on to him. Are you his spy now?' I cried, shocked and distraught that Lily, whom I had always trusted, could betray me in this way.

  'I'm sorry, Miss Sophie. Truly I am. It was only out of love and respect for you. I only did what I thought right,' she sobbed.

  'Just leave,' I said quietly, trying not to cry. 'I will not have you working as my personal maid if I cannot trust you. You are dismissed! Pack your bags and be gone by morning,' I told her.

  Lily bit back a sob and struggled to regain her composure. 'I'll go, but think on this, Miss Sophie. Mr Hughes is more true than that rogue Mr Stevens will ever be. He's trouble, that one, and no mistake. Even left Mr Hughes's poor sister for dead, so they say!' she blurted out. 'And if you don't trust me, you certainly can't trust him!'

  And, with that, Lily ran from my room, sobbing and banging the door behind her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Over the next few days I thought a lot about what Lily had said. Now I had something new to feel guilty for – wrongly accusing Mr Hughes of telling my father about the march. It seemed that every judgement I had made recently had been wrong. I no longer felt able to trust myself, and with Mama still away, Papa and I at loggerheads, poor Estella miserable in the country, and Lily now gone, I had never felt more alone. I thanked heaven for darling Harry and the long-suffering Mrs Willow.

  'What did you and Lily quarrel about?' Mrs Willow asked me after Lily had left.

  'It was something silly, but she had started to meddle, actually,' I replied.

  Mrs Willow pursed her lips. 'If you go on confusing meddling with caring, you will be a very lonely girl,' she said sharply.

  I started to keep a diary to unravel my feelings, writing:

  Is it acceptable to betray another if the motive is pure? I have betrayed my father, but it was in the name of social justice. And if Marcus has betrayed me in the name of social justice, does that make his behaviour acceptable?

  I cried myself to sleep with Dinky in my arms. I felt I did not deserve to be loved. Life was awful without Lily. For a start, Annie, my new personal maid, who had been promoted from general maid, was terrible at hair-dos; but more importantly I missed Lily's steady guidance and friendship.

  Just as I was beginning to think that Marcus had completely abandoned me and I would never be happy again, an exciting invitation arrived by messenger. It was from him, and it invited Lucy and me to an after-show party at the King's Theatre. The production was Romeo and Juliet – very romantic.

  I wrote to Lucy immediately:

  Is it me being silly, or is it significant that he has chosen such a romantic production to invite me to?

  Lucy wrote back:

  I would love to come with you. News has reached me that Mr Archer is to be kept in gaol for five years for his involvement in the illegal smuggling of slaves! I can't bear to think of him in prison for so long, though I know he doesn't deserve any sympathy. I must try to forget him. And a theatre party will be just the thing. I have never been to one before. La-di-dah! What shall I wear? Coachman! Take me to Mayfair, I have a dress to buy!

  I giggled. Lucy was sounding more like her old self, thank goodness. We twittered back and forth by letter regarding hair-dos and shoes and 'looks' for the party. We also hatched a plan for slipping away from our chaperones . . .

  Occasionally a society hostess who presents debutantes to the Royal Court will oversee an outing and give the other chaperones an evening off. On this occasion we pretended that this was what was happening, and simultaneously arranged a lovely treat for Mrs Willow and Lady Lennox – an evening at the opera, which we knew they could never resist. It was a great risk, but one we were determined to take.

  I was very torn over my appearance. I knew that Marcus liked intellectual girls, but I did not want to look drab and dowdy at such an exciting evening party.

  I set about piecing together an ensemble with a plain white gown, a white rosebud necklace and no rouge at all.

  Lucy looked quite unbelievably beautiful when she appeared that evening. I did not feel jealous as such – I am always very proud of her. But she is far more womanly than I, and wore a very low-cut empire dress in soft lilac satin. (All right, I am a little jealous of Lucy!) Her hair was pretty too, woven with fresh flowers.

  'Oh, I do miss my Lily!' I said, patting my slightly lopsided hair-do as we hurried to the theatre, which wasn't far from Musgrove House. We had seen Mrs Willow and Lady Lennox off earlier, assuring them that we would be collected by our chaperone; now we were free and ready to enjoy ourselves. Both of us were troubled by thoughts that we were eager to put out of our minds.

  Lucy and I enjoyed the play enormously, although I was craning my neck the whole time to see if Marcus was in the audience. The actress playing Juliet was Diana Compton. She was beautiful, with a long, elegant neck and a sweet expression. I felt sure I had seen her before, but I couldn't think where.

  On our way down to the foyer to meet Marcus afterwards, we heard a familiar voice behind us.

  'Good evening, ladies. Did you enjoy the performance?' enquired Mr Hughes.

  'Good evening, Mr Hughes. Yes, it was very fine,' I replied, blushing a little when I remembered how coldly I had treated him at our last meeting – and how unfairly!

  'And now we are going to the after-show party,' put in Lucy excitedly.

  Mr Hughes looked rather shocked at that. 'Be careful,' he warned. 'They are a wanton set. I myself am heading to Almack's for supper. Would you not care to join me there?'

  'Thank you, no. We must keep our engagement,' I said. Lucy and I were far too intrigued by a theatre party to swap it for a simple supper.

  'As you wish,' he replied with a slight bow. 'It was a pleasure to see you both.' And he took his leave somewhat reluctantly.

  'A wanton set,' breathed Lucy. 'I can't wait!'

  We hovered awkwardly in the foyer until a steward asked, 'Are you for the party, ladies?'

  'Yes, that's right!' said Lucy boldly.

  'Then come this way, please,' he said.

  We followed him through a maze of corridors and swing doors, all painted crimson with gold beading and lettering. Eventually we heard chatting and laughter and walked in on a scene of full-blown revelry.

  The room was a riot of red and gold, with velvet walls and ornate pillars. It was very warm and the air was filled with the smell of wine and perfume. A hundred people or more laughed and danced and chatted merrily, giggling at risqué jokes and sipping delicious-looking drinks.

  'Oh, my goodness,' I said to Lucy. 'This
looks absolutely—'

  'Wonderful!' Lucy interrupted.

  I had been going to say 'wild' myself, but I decided that 'wonderful' would do just as well and let it stand.

  It took a while to find Marcus – he was quite unsteady with alcohol, although he did look wonderfully handsome in an expensive, beautifully cut suit.

  'Sophia!' he exclaimed. 'Come and meet the Prince of Wales!'

  'We have already met,' I said, as politely as I could, given my opinion of him.

  'Indeed we have,' said the Prince. 'And how nice it is to see you out in theatre-land, young Musgrove!' he added, running his gaze over me from head to foot. 'A bit thin, but plenty of promise. Good young flesh, eh?' he said to Marcus, as though I were a cow at market.

  To my surprise, Marcus merely laughed. How odd, I thought, that so serious a person could behave with such abandon. He probably needs the relaxation, I concluded.

  As the Prince of Wales tried to embrace me, despite the great distance created between us by his belly, I looked around, hoping for Lucy to rescue me. What I saw was Lucy reclining on a chaise longue, being fed grapes by the actor who had played Romeo.

  I dared not interrupt her, as she was clearly having fun, so I endured the embrace, and then Marcus led me through the crowd, introducing me to his acquaintances. Most were quite incoherent with alcohol. Perhaps I should have some wine, I thought, suddenly feeling very straight and dull.

  Marcus brought me a huge glass of red wine, which I drank too quickly, only to find him producing a decanter and refilling my glass. I covered the glass with my hand when he started to fill it the next time, but he insisted on topping it up 'in case' I wanted more.

  I suppose I should have been flattered that so many men sidled up to me with compliments on my beauty, but for one thing I did not believe they were sincere, and for another, I was mightily hurt that Marcus showed no sign of jealousy at their advances. And I noticed that he was a little distracted by the leading lady from the play, the beautiful Diana Compton. I saw him stroke her hair affectionately, and at one point they were wound around one another in an embrace. Perhaps this is just the way theatre people behave, I thought. As I caught sight of the actress giggling, I suddenly realized where I had seen her before – she had been at the anti-slavery meeting in Clerkenwell when Marcus had seemed so preoccupied!

  Watching the two of them together now, I suddenly realized what a fool I had been. Marcus loved another girl. And I had betrayed my very soul and my dear papa to please him. My thoughts overwhelmed me and the room started to spin. Vile, gargoyle-type faces seemed to leer at me as I negotiated the packed room in search of a chair.

  I took a seat and put down my half-full wine glass, realizing that I was really rather intoxicated. By now, lots of people were kissing, or lying in drunken stupors. The mood of the party had changed from slightly naughty to completely dissolute. It all seemed horribly sordid.

  Tears were close but I forced them back and stood up again, determined to go and look for Lucy. As I wove my way through the room, I overheard an exchange between two young men.

  'How does that blackguard Stevens do it, eh? Where has he got his latest tranche of money from this time?' said a young dandy to his crony.

  'From what I hear,' replied the other, 'he has made a packet selling some secret government papers. And he gets all the pretty girls, the cad! I hate him!'

  Both men laughed. 'Yes, we hate him, but if he's offering lessons, I'll be at the front of the queue!' replied the first.

  I gasped and had to lean against a pillar, feeling violently ill. I could barely take in what I had heard, and yet I knew at once that it was true. Marcus had asked me to betray my own father – not to help ill-treated slaves at all, but to line his own greasy pockets! How stupid I had been. I was racked with remorse, guilt and self-loathing. I had to find Lucy and get away from this den of sin. I felt as if it were contaminating every pore of me.

  Eventually I found my friend behind a silk screen. She was very drunk and being fondled by a drunken 'Romeo'.

  'Lucy, come with me, quickly!' I urged. 'I have to talk to you!'

  'Sophie, please help me up. My head is spinning!' she said.

  I offered Lucy my hand and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled towards me, and together we found the way out, which was not easy to do in the dim light. Gratefully we followed the flow of fresh air out onto the street.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, but soon tensed again as I realized that we had been followed by a drunken lord. He was offensive and lecherous.

  'Leave us alone. We have left the party!' I said.

  'Oh, feisty? Just how I like them!' he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to him.

  'Help!' I cried as he drew me into an alleyway and forced me back against the wall. This time I was not free to look for a weapon and I feared that I would not be able to escape as Lucy and I had done at the docks.

  I struggled, but my attacker kissed me hard on the lips and I heard Lucy crying, 'Sophie! Poor Sophie!' in a slurred voice. I knew that she was in no fit state to help me, and I had no idea how I was going to get out of trouble this time.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lucy had fallen quiet – I hoped she was all right, even though I had my work cut out fighting off my 'admirer'. But just as my strength was at an end, as if in a dream, a familiar face emerged above me. It was Mr Hughes. Lucy had gathered her wits and run to fetch him from Almack's.

  'Mr Hughes!' I cried.

  He took one look at the scene and pulled the amorous, drunken lord away from me. I buried my face in my hands and Lucy came to comfort me, while Mr Hughes punched my attacker and gave him a bloody nose, then pushed him back inside the doors of the theatre.

  Mr Hughes came over to attend to me after that. He took off his cloak and wrapped it around me. Seeing that I was in no state to speak, he turned to address Lucy. 'Lady Lucy, what have you both been drinking?' he asked.

  'A mixture of punch and wines,' Lucy revealed.

  'Miss Musgrove may need a doctor. Where are your chaperones?' he asked.

  'At the opera!' hiccupped Lucy, who was gradually sobering up.

  'We cannot summon a doctor to Musgrove House at this hour,' I mumbled. 'That would waken the whole household! And I am not injured. I don't need a doctor.'

  'I have a friend who practises medicine. He lives close by. If you agree to see him at his rooms, then I promise I will not reveal what has happened,' bargained Mr Hughes. 'But we must be sure that you are unhurt.'

  'Thank you!' I said. 'That is very kind.'

  Mr Hughes hailed a hackney carriage for us, and we arrived at the Warwick Street practice of his friend, Dr Maurice Wimpole.

  It was very embarrassing to arrive like this, at such a late hour, but the butler went to fetch the doctor, and the lovely old man rose from his bed and trudged down to see us in his red dressing gown.

  He checked me over in his surgery.

  'She should be made to drink a pint of water and sleep for a day, then she will be as good as new,' he told Mr Hughes.

  Another hackney carriage was summoned, which took the three of us back the short distance to Mayfair.

  'Enjoy the party, ladies?' Mr Hughes asked us.

  'Not much,' I replied.

  He smiled at me.

  I tried to express my gratitude to him. 'Thank you,' I said simply. I had treated him very badly. Now I realized I had treated Lily very badly too. After all, she had only been trying to help, but I had been so blinded by my feelings for Marcus that I had not seen the dangers. Perhaps all my friends had cared about me more than I deserved.

  Once we were safely delivered to Musgrove House, Mr Hughes bade us goodnight. He insisted that I drink a pint of water straight away and Lucy promised to oversee this. He seemed sorry to leave us, but eventually took his leave, promising to keep our secret.

  After we'd both drunk a good deal of water, Lucy and I headed up to bed, clutching a lit candle each.

  I looked from my w
indow down onto the street below, where I spotted Mr Hughes. He turned round and saw the candlelight at my window. He waved up, as though saluting me, which made me smile. I saluted him back.

  When I woke the next day, I lay in bed thinking over the evening's events. I was stunned by how Marcus had treated me at the party, and unbelievably grateful to Mr Hughes for rescuing me in spite of my recent coldness to him. The news that Marcus had sold my father's papers for money haunted my thoughts. I prayed that I was horribly mistaken but I knew it wasn't so.

  He did not get in touch – not even to check whether I had got home safely. And I had to accept, at last, that he was not what he seemed. I was heartbroken and I could barely swallow my food – it felt as if a ball of anguish had lodged in my throat. I felt so vulnerable and out of my depth and longed to be my father's little girl once more.

  He and I had some jolly times over the next few days, and we even went for a walk in Hyde Park together.

  'You know, Sophia,' he said to me as we were strolling along arm-in-arm, 'I am very concerned about the cruel practices on the slave ships. If I – and many others – have our way, we will have this wretched trade banned! I feel that I have been too dismissive of your interest in the matter. Perhaps there is a place for the voices of intelligent young ladies, such as yourself, in political debate. You know, I would rather you came to me for advice than have you take it from strangers, darling.'

  Dear Papa, he wasn't a monster at all. And to think how I had treated him!

  As I sat reading a volume of the poems of William Wordsworth in the drawing room one morning in August, trying to distract my mind, Hawkes appeared to announce a guest.

  'Who is it?' I asked.

  'It is Lord Sandford, miss. Asking expressly for you,' said Hawkes, with one of his barely discernible winks.

  'Oh dear!' I blurted out loud.

  'Are you out, miss?' asked Hawkes.

  'No, Hawkes. Please show him in,' I said. It was time I faced up to this other area of confusion in my life once and for all. It was some time since Estella's wedding, after all.