Break of Dawn (13 page)

Sophy had found Patience to be out of sorts, depressed and miserable at her life within the four walls of the vicarage. On further questioning, Sophy had discovered the old curate had retired in the summer and a new young man had taken his place who had set Patience’s heart a-flutter. Unfortunately, her feelings didn’t seem to be reciprocated. In fact, Patience said, Mr Travis had taken to avoiding her and she wasn’t imagining it. Following this revelation, relations between the two girls became strained when, at the Christmas Day service, Mr Travis made a beeline for Sophy and tried to chat to her for some time, in spite of all her efforts to cut the conversation short. In the end she had had to be somewhat impolite to make her escape.

A couple of days before the New Year, when her aunt was out with Patience one morning calling on friends, Sophy felt an
overwhelming urge to escape the vicarage. Apart from attending her uncle’s church service she had barely been out of the house since she had arrived home, the inclement weather making even the shortest journey difficult. It had snowed on and off since her first day back in Southwick, and even today the sky looked heavy and low again. Her aunt had left her a basket full of mending to do; quite different to the variety of fancy needlework Patience and her mother spent their time doing, along with a little painting in fine watercolours and drawing in charcoal.

She was fully aware the basket of mending was a subtle insult by her aunt, a reminder that she was little more than a servant, but she would actually prefer to be doing something useful rather than stitching netting purses, embroidering pen cases or decorating handkerchiefs, things of limited use and value. But today she felt she would go mad if she didn’t go outside for a while, and so she ran upstairs to Patience’s bedroom and put on an extra layer before donning her winter coat, hat and gloves. She was just about to leave the house when David, who wasn’t due to go back to his private school for another week, appeared from the direction of the kitchen munching on a piece of Christmas cake.

Sophy smiled at Patience’s twin. He was tall for his age and gangly with it, and always ravenously hungry. That he was Mrs Hogarth’s favourite was in no doubt, since he was the only one in the family who could scrounge anything from the cook between meals, but that was David all over. He was as sunny-natured as his twin was dour, and at seventeen years of age possessed of a gaiety which was infectious. He was also in the grip of what Charlotte would have called a ‘mash’ on her. Sophy had been aware of this to some extent in the summer, but since she had returned home, the poor boy stammered and blushed and nearly fell over his own feet whenever he saw or spoke to her. For this reason she had tended to avoid him to some extent, for his sake not hers, not wishing to embarrass him. Now though, seeing her dressed for the outdoors, he rushed towards her as eagerly as a puppy, saying, ‘Are you going for a walk? I was just about to do the same. Perhaps we could walk together?’

She didn’t have the heart to refuse him. Apart from her uncle, who was ensconced in his study as usual, the house was empty, John and Matthew being at work, and no doubt David was as bored as she was.

She waited while he threw on his hat and coat and then they set off, walking north away from the village towards Carley Hill Farm and the quarries and more open countryside. The air was bitterly cold but wonderfully fresh and clean, and although the snow was deep in places it had been trodden down over the last ten days or so to provide a narrow walkway in most places, with great drifts piled up either side of the paths. The going got harder after they passed the old quarries, but they were young and energetic, and once David had got over his initial shyness at having the girl he dreamed about every night all to himself, they chatted and laughed together, much as Sophy and Matthew had done the night she had come home.

They walked as far as Boldon, a mining town some three or four miles north of Southwick, following the old dry-stone-walled lanes until they came to the growing township and West Boldon Mill. This had been seriously damaged by fire three years previously: a storm had caused the sails of the mill to rotate so fast that when the brakes were applied, such heat was generated that a fire broke out and all but the stone tower was destroyed.

‘We’d better start back.’ They had stood staring at the remains of the mill for some moments, catching their breath, and it dawned on Sophy that they would be hard-pressed to be back before her aunt and Patience finished their round of calls. Not that she and David were doing anything wrong in taking a walk together, but she knew instinctively that her aunt wouldn’t like it. Her aunt had been even more cold and abrupt than usual over Christmas and had given her a hundred and one jobs to keep her from spending time with the family. The trouble was, Mrs Hogarth resented anyone but Molly in ‘her’ kitchen, and when Sophy was told to do the mountain of ironing that accumulated day by day in the scullery washing baskets, or to help prepare meals or clean the range, the cook viewed this as gross interference, reflected in her attitude to Sophy.

Sophy sighed deeply. She needed to get away from Southwick, but although her education had been a good one for a girl, it had merely prepared her for running a comfortable and peaceful home for her future husband, the destiny of any well-brought-up young lady. And the thing was, more and more of late she knew she didn’t want to tread the path expected of her. She didn’t want to get married, well, not for years and years anyway, and she certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of her days occupied like her aunt and so many of her aunt’s friends, making a round of calls every morning and sitting embroidering useless items every afternoon. And once children came along, a woman’s life became even more limited and restricted.

She had played with the idea of giving elocution lessons, or maybe teaching ballet or the rudiments of music, but that didn’t appeal either. She would still be forced to live at the vicarage for one thing until she could build a name for herself and maybe afford to take rooms somewhere, and she couldn’t see her aunt allowing any part of her home to be used for such vulgar purposes. But besides the mechanics of the idea, she didn’t actually
want
to teach. She wanted to give free rein to the feeling which always rose in her breast when she was dancing or singing or acting, for it was only then she truly felt herself. But she hadn’t dared mention this to a soul. Even Charlotte, sweet as she was, would have been horrified at the notion, and regarded her as mad. And perhaps she was. No one else she knew was like her and she didn’t understand where this urge to perform had come from.

‘What’s the matter?’ David had heard the sigh and as they began to retrace their steps towards home, he glanced at Sophy. She was wearing the grey serge coat which was part of the uniform for the school she had attended. Patience had at least two other coats, but Sophy was limited to the one. Her fur bonnet had been a present from John for Christmas though, and it was lined and trimmed in a dark gold satin. This framed her lovely face perfectly and brought out the burned honey of her eyes in a way that made him catch his breath now.

Unaware of his rapt gaze and her eyes on the road ahead, Sophy said quietly, ‘I was just thinking, that’s all.’

‘What about?’

‘All sorts of things,’ she prevaricated.

‘Has Mother upset you again?’

His voice had hardened in the same way John’s and Matthew’s did when they spoke of Mary, and Sophy said quickly, ‘No, no she hasn’t. It’s just . . .’ She fiddled with her gloves for a few moments as they walked. ‘I’ve finished school now and I’m not sure what’s going to happen.’

David stared at her, alarm rising. ‘Why does anything have to happen? You’ll live at home like Patience, won’t you?’

Sophy shook her head. ‘David, Patience is your parents’ daughter. I – I was foisted on them when my mother died, and your mother has never let me forget it, as you well know. I have to take responsibility for my own future. I can’t expect them to keep me now I’m old enough to work.’

‘Work?’ He sounded as shocked as though she had said something indecent. ‘But you can’t work, Sophy. You’ll stay at home until you get married.’

‘I can work and I will.’ Her voice brooked no argument. ‘I’ve been thinking of various things I might do, although I must admit nothing particularly appeals. But then, why should it? Thousands of people have to work every day at jobs they don’t like. Think of the mines and factories and mills.’

‘Those are men and it’s right and proper they earn a living.’

‘Women work just as hard as men, David. Harder. And not just in the home caring for their family either. Lots of women have to take in washing or needlework, and some work in the factories and milliner establishments, the mills, all sorts of places. They do a day’s work and then go home and start there.’

‘Those are working-class women, not someone like you.’

She stopped dead, staring at him. He was probably the gentlest of the brothers, and undoubtedly kind and caring, but the way he had spoken grated on her. Her voice was uncharacteristically sharp when she said, ‘We’re all the same under the skin, David. Queen and washerwoman. It’s just an accident of birth that separates the lady in her big house with umpteen servants and the pauper starving in one room.’

David blinked. He hadn’t heard Sophy talk like this before and he didn’t know what to say. ‘But – but that’s just how things are, how they’ve always been.’

‘It doesn’t mean it’s right or that it should continue. In fact, lots of things should change. People laugh at women who say we should be able to vote the same as men, but why not?’

‘Is this the sort of stuff they’ve been teaching you at Miss Bainbridge’s Academy?’ David was completely out of his depth but fascinated by her vehemence and flushed cheeks.

Sophy, who had been about to elaborate further, stopped, and then giggled. ‘Goodness, no. Miss Bainbridge would have a fit. She even vetted the books we read and the list of what she considered improper was endless. But Jessica, one of the girls in my dormitory, had a brother who used to give her the newspapers he bought and she smuggled them in for us to read. Most of the girls didn’t bother, but I found them interesting. I learned more about life from them than I ever did from Miss Bainbridge and her team of old spinsters.’

‘Good gracious.’ David found he was more in love than ever. ‘Like what, for instance?’

They continued to discuss the merits of social and political reform, Gladstone’s dealing with the Irish situation, the controversy over women’s suffrage and a whole host of other issues on the walk home, both of them enjoying themselves immensely. It was the first time Sophy had been able to voice her opinions and arguments, and although such matters were part of David’s education, he had never heard a woman’s point of view before. Indeed, he would never have imagined the female sex concerned themselves about anything other than the latest fashions and the price of a new bonnet. He knew there were a few, what were considered ‘strange’ young women in the country, who attended the Lady Margaret Hall in Oxford, all from upper-and middle-class families, but his tutors had been scathingly dismissive of this establishment, and his conviction that a woman’s place was in the home had never been seriously shaken. Now he was having to think again, and it both excited and worried him. But excitement prevailed.

Sophy was a wonderful girl, he told himself, as they neared the vicarage gates and she laughed at a joke he had made, making him feel ten-feet tall. Just wonderful. And the next moment, surprising himself as much as her, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her full on the lips, dislodging her bonnet so it fell to the back of her neck where it dangled, held on by its silk ribbons.

It was over in an instant. Sophy jerked away, her outraged ‘David!’ bringing him immediately to his senses. And there it might have ended. A brief second of boyish ardour.

But to Mary Hutton, rounding the corner of the lane in the pony and trap with Patience sitting at her side, it confirmed every last fear she’d had about Jeremiah’s sister’s child. The trap reached the pair who were now standing some three feet apart in moments, and her face livid, Mary raised her ornamental whip with the intention of bringing it down on the golden-red head. It was only Patience, grabbing hold of her mother’s arm and refusing to let go, who deflected the blow.

‘You hussy.’
Mary didn’t shout, she didn’t have to. The words came like molten steel between her clenched teeth, and when David tried to explain she cut him short, saying, ‘Get into the house, both of you, now.’

David’s face was chalk-white as they followed the trap up the drive, his muttered, ‘I’m sorry, Sophy,’ shaky. ‘I’ll tell her it was me, don’t worry,’ he added, as they mounted the three steps leading to the open front door.

Sophy said nothing but she was trembling inside, not because she was afraid of her aunt, that time had gone, but to be faced with such hatred was unnerving. They’d heard Mary screaming Jeremiah’s name as they’d reached the house, and as they entered the hall her uncle came hurrying downstairs, his irritated, ‘What now?’ receiving no answer.

They followed Jeremiah into the drawing room. Mary was standing with her back to the roaring fire still dressed in the brocade and fur ensemble she wore when she went visiting, and Patience was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, her face as white as theirs, mainly because her mother’s rage had brought back
the horror of the time six years before. She had never been able to view her mother in the same light again after that, and although she still resented Sophy’s beauty at times – especially recently after Mr Travis had practically drooled over her – she’d always felt protective of her cousin.

It was to Patience Mary turned as she said, ‘Tell him. Tell your father what you have just seen.’

‘Mother—’

‘I said tell him.’

‘You tell me.’ Jeremiah could see Mary’s face was suffused with dark colour and that she was shaking with fury, and he had noticed the pony and trap was still standing on the drive when he had come downstairs. The horse should be in its stable.