Miss Sophie's Secret

The mud-spattered traveling coach lumbered around a corner into Berkeley Square. Everyone who was walking through the park—two ladies with a maid in attendance and a fashionable young gentleman in a fur-trimmed Polish greatcoat—as well as a dark-haired army captain striding along the street turned in curiosity to watch its progress through the gray January day.

It had jounced and rattled past two stately mansions, when an attractive young woman put her face to one of its windows. She was peering out from under a rather dowdy bonnet, which was greatly enhanced by clusters of crisp black curls that were escaping onto her cheeks and neck. Her eyes were shining with excitement.

“Oh, Aunt Ruth!” she exclaimed to her traveling companion. “It’s all so beautiful! Look at this delightful park and these lovely homes.”

The coach rumbled past two more dwellings before drawing up in front of a house that was the most graceful of them all.

Sophia “Sophie” Althorpe clasped her hands in delight. “Is this it? Is this Vaile House? Oh, Aunt Ruth, it’s even more beautiful than I anticipated.”

At that moment a horde of servants erupted from the building. Six footmen, two grooms, and three stableboys sprinted between the wrought-iron gates and took up positions around the vehicle, snapping their heels together and stiffening to attention. At the same time the front doors of the house were thrown open to reveal Leeds, the septuagenarian butler, bowing as low as his brittle bones would permit.

A handsome widow in her middle years appeared at the coach door. “Ah, yes, we have arrived at last,” she announced. “And it is as I remembered it—an excellent building, well worth the buffeting we have endured these past three days.”

With a shudder of distaste at the memory of her recent ordeal, Lady Ruth Biskup stepped into the aperture and allowed two solicitous footmen to lift her gently to the ground. Immediately Sophie appeared in the doorway and sprang down off the step before anyone could put up a hand to assist her.

“Why did Lord Reginald never bring us here?” she asked, tilting back her head to survey the façade. “I am confident his life would have been prolonged and his blue devils banished if he had spent more time in this delightful place.” Without waiting for her aunt to answer, she hurried into the courtyard. “It has a perfect situation on this busy, entertaining square.”

“Yes, yes,” Lady Biskup agreed in a low voice. “But you must quiet yourself, Sophie. You do not wish to be labeled a
green girl
. You are in London now, and must remember to comport yourself always with the dignity of a young gentlewoman.”

Sophie turned her attention in another direction. “So much noise here—horses whinnying, people shouting. Why, just look at that marvelous team of grays charging straight toward our fence. Are they racing, do you suppose?”

“Good God!” Lady Biskup cried, letting out a squeak and leaping for cover. “Jump out of the way!”

But she was too late. Over the rumble of pounding hoofs and the shouts of the Vaile servants, four sleek gray horses came thundering across the park pulling an empty barouche behind them. A ragged little coachman sat on the box, hunched over the reins. Suddenly he rose to his feet and leaped, landing at the edge of the roadway and staggering into a low hedge. Then he dove for cover behind some bushes.

Without the driver’s restraining hands on the ribbons, the team swerved clear of the iron fence that separated Vaile House from the outside world, but the empty coach crashed against it full force and was completely demolished.

To Sophie’s amazement a split second before impact, the red-coated army captain came flying over the palings. He rocketed into her arms, embracing her painfully then dashing her to the ground. Fortunately, he twisted a bit to one side at the last moment and avoided landing squarely on top of her, but they slammed to earth hard, locked in each other’s arms.

Sophie emitted a loud, unladylike “Ooff!” as she hit the ground.

“Sorry,” he said, disentangling himself and leaping up. He pulled her quickly to her feet and peered anxiously into her face. “Have I hurt you?”

“No,” she said, feeling her left elbow, which had taken a forceful blow. “I believe I am only shaken.”

“Good,” he said, and he bounded back to the fence. With the ease of a practiced gymnast, he vaulted up onto one of the stone piers.

Sophie watched him, her mouth ajar. He was a tall, athletic young man with wavy black hair, wide, straight shoulders and long legs. Perched atop the six-foot-high fence, he loomed like a god against the sky.

“There!” he shouted, pointing an imperious finger at the hunched figure of the coachman, who was now fleeing across the park. “Take that man!”

In the midst of the confusion the two ladies and their maid had cowered behind a bench and the gentleman in the Polish greatcoat had retreated into some shrubbery.

“You there, sir!” the captain shouted. “Take after that coachman and bring him back here!”

The gentleman put his head gingerly out of a cluster of leaves. When he discovered that all eyes were upon him, he quickly withdrew and disappeared deeper into the verdure.

The captain swung around to face the Vaile servants, who were endeavoring to extricate the frantic horses from a tangle of lines and broken shafts. Pointing a finger at a slender young groom, he demanded, “You’re Johnnie Aysgarth, are you not?”

“Yes, sir!” the groom cried, leaping to attention.

“Go after that coachman! He’s getting away.”

“Yes, sir!”

Aysgarth dashed through the front gate and raced off in pursuit of the rapidly disappearing figure. The captain turned on his perch to peer at Sophie, whose look of confusion had been replaced by a radiant smile.

“Jonathan!” she cried.

Lady Biskup was also staring at him in disbelief. “Jonathan Gray!” she exclaimed. “Is it possible?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “It is I.” He dropped lightly to the ground and strode to her side. “I expected to find London safer after the war in Portugal, but it appears I was mistaken.” He raised the older woman’s hand to his lips. “I was coming here to see you and would have made a proper entrance through the front gate if this attempt had not been made on my life.”

Lady Biskup started violently. “Certainly it is not possible that someone was trying to kill you, dear boy? I think it more likely a mistake of some kind.”

“They were trying to kill someone else, you mean?”

“No,” she said, primming her mouth and brushing a gloved hand over her rumpled skirt. “I find it difficult to believe that—in this civilized day and age—anyone was trying to
kill
. Undoubtedly the horses bolted and the little coachman was not strong enough to bring them under control.”

He shook his head solemnly. “The driver was trying to trap me between the barouche and the fence. It took a bit of maneuvering on his part. He had a particularly unpleasant expression on his face—you may have observed it—as though he were quite intent on something. Besides, why should he run away unless he were guilty of a misdeed? All most strange.”

Lady Biskup’s brow furrowed with concern.

As Jonathan became aware of her anxiety, he cleared his throat and said, “Well, I believe you are correct. He mistook me for another man. I have no enemies. Yes, I shall consider it a mistake and put it out of my mind.”

Lady Biskup nodded now, her face relaxing into a smile. “A mistake, certainly.” She took one of his hands and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “And you are home again, my dearest boy. How wonderful! What do you think of our Sophie since she has become a young lady?”

The young lady in question came over to them and slipped her hand into Jonathan’s.

He raised it to his lips. “You’ve changed very little in the past five years, Sophie, except you’ve grown deliciously older. You’re a real beauty, as I knew you would be.”

She pressed his hand against her cheek. “It’s wonderful to have you home again. Now our stay in town will be perfect in every way. But I must confess that for a moment I did not recognize you. You look so much older.”

He straightened almost imperceptibly, his jaw hardening. “Five years in the Peninsula Campaign are bound to age a man, I fear.”

“Yes, yes,” Lady Biskup interjected. “But you still look very young to me. Must you return to that dreadful place?”

“No,” he said, “I’m being mustered out. In fact, I have only just arrived in town.”

“Then you must stay here with us,” she told him. “It will be comforting to have some family assembled together. Such a bleak time we’ve had since dear Vaile’s death.” She sighed heavily, then after a moment of thoughtfulness gave herself a little shake. “Well, well, now, we must not brood. Let us go inside and refresh ourselves with a nice cup of hot tea. What an endless exhausting journey we’ve had from Vaile Priory.”

Jonathan tucked Lady Biskup’s hand through his arm and, holding out his other arm to Sophie, escorted the two ladies up the stairs and into the house. Inside the door Sophie stopped and inhaled sharply. She found herself looking into an unusually spacious vestibule whose intricately carved plaster ceiling soared at least fifty feet above the cool white marble floor. Four large broad-leafed trees in enormous tubs were set about the room while a graceful staircase with gilded banisters curved up one wall, its steps lushly carpeted with a thick garnet runner. Over everything a warm glow of candlelight was suffused by the many gilded wall sconces.

The household staff was waiting stiffly in a line to greet them. Leeds bowed solemnly to Lady Biskup and began the ritual of presenting each servant.

“Edmund McCoy, m’lady. I trust you’ll remember him from your last stay at Vaile House, though it be nineteen years this past June.”

“Yes, indeed,” Lady Biskup said, smiling at the head footman. “How nice to see that you are still with us, Edmund.”

They passed along the line, nodding and murmuring until they had acknowledged the entire staff. After removing their coats, they moved on into a small withdrawing room at the end of the hall. Lady Biskup led the way, sinking gratefully onto a white brocade sofa, but Sophie paused in the doorway as a slight movement of air set the lusters on the wall sconces and candelabra to shifting, and showers of sparkling stars cascading over them. This was accompanied by a faint tinkling sound that brought to mind fairy bells.

A smile curved Sophie’s lips as she surveyed the beautiful little salon. It had pale blue walls and heavily patterned white brocade draperies that matched the upholstery on the small sofas and chairs. Everywhere there were candles dispelling the darkness of the winter afternoon—in the gold wall brackets and the candelabra that had been set on various small tables. A bright, inviting fire crackled on the hearth.

“How cheerful it is here,” she said, settling herself on the front edge of a sofa. “You would not believe, Jonathan, how empty and dreary Vaile Priory has been without Lord Reginald. I had not realized that every bit of pleasure and entertainment we had there was centered around him. I had always been aware that I loved him dearly, but until his death I had no idea that my entire life revolved around him. He was so much more to me than a mere benefactor.”

“Yes, yes,” Lady Biskup said. “And he loved you with all his heart, my dear. It is my opinion that your presence at Vaile Priory was the only thing which kept Reginald out of the grave these past fourteen years, when life was so repugnant to him.”

Jonathan was leaning languidly against the fireplace, his right elbow resting on the mantel. “Precisely why did he find life repugnant, Aunt Ruth?” he asked. “I was never able to fathom that. As far as I could see, his situation was as rich and rewarding as any on earth.”

Lady Biskup pursed her lips. “Well . . .” She glanced uneasily from one to the other, hesitating. “Um . . . he never discussed it with me in detail, you understand, but I have heard he was thoroughly embittered by a series of dreadful events which occurred over the years.”

“It was all most mysterious,” Sophie concurred. “He would never describe those events to me, but he hinted at them from time to time—all manner of dark deeds, he implied. Perhaps we shall never know the truth.” With a sigh she brushed the back of her sleeve across her mouth.

“There!” Lady Biskup exclaimed, wagging a finger at her. “I have warned you that you would forget yourself and wipe your face with your sleeve while you are in town, and you have done so. It is a disgraceful, vulgar habit, Sophie. You must use your handkerchief—do so this very minute! Open your reticule—come now, do as I say. Take out your handkerchief and delicately blot your mouth.”

“But Aunt Ruth . . .” Sophie protested, glancing red-cheeked at Jonathan.

Lady Biskup clucked her tongue. “Don’t argue with me. Open your reticule and take out your handkerchief. You’re not in the country anymore. These graceful little gestures must become second nature to you if you are to be considered a proper young lady.”

“Oh, dear, I left my reticule in the coach,” Sophie said.