Miss Sophie's Secret (3 page)

“I must tell you in all honesty that she will not divulge the truth of our connection. She’ll spin us a farradiddle—for our own good, of course—and why that should be so is more than I can fathom. In the end we shall remain as much in the dark as ever.”

Lady Biskup raised both hands in protest. “No, no, my love. There is no need for me to prevaricate. The facts are quite simple: We are all related through the Althorpes.”

She fixed Jonathan with a solemn gaze. “Your mother was an Althorpe, was she not?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said. “Though I must take the information on faith, as I don’t remember her. She died when I was seven months old. My earliest memories are of living somewhere in the hills near Simla after the fever epidemic wiped out most of the British garrison—my father included. I have been told many times that my mother’s name was Matilda Althorpe and my father’s name was Michael Gray.”

Lady Biskup nodded. “Your mother was a third cousin of mine, as was Sophie’s father, Timothy Althorpe.” Now she turned to her niece. “And your mother was distantly related to Lord Reginald. Her name was Rose.”

“Rose!” Sophie cried, stopping in front of her and planting her hands on her hips. “
Rose
, you say? You told me her name was Lily. Now I have caught you flat out, Aunt Ruth, and I know beyond any further doubt that you are hoaxing me, just as I have always suspected. I have caught her, Jonathan. Is this not the most outrageous thing? And to make it even more so, Lord Reginald always referred to my mother as Violet.”

“Oh, dear,” Lady Biskup stammered. “Violet?” She uncorked her vinaigrette and waved it under her nose. After deeply inhaling its soothing vapors, she nodded and said, “Perhaps it was Violet. It was a kind of flower, I remember.”

Sophie wrung her hands. “I am certain you are deceiving me, but for what purpose?”

“My dear child,” her aunt protested, “why should I wish to do so?”

“That is what I cannot understand.”

Sophie plopped down onto the sofa again beside Jonathan and gazed at him with an expression of such acute misery that he almost held out his arms to her. She scowled at Lady Biskup.

“Who am I, Aunt Ruth?” she pleaded. “Why can no one agree on the name of my mother? Or my father’s country seat or his title? You and Lord Reginald have told me so many different tales. What is the truth?”

Lady Biskup shook her head unhappily. “My dearest child, I have no idea.”

Sophie turned to Jonathan. “Have you often wondered why the stories about me are so baffling?”

“Yes, I have,” he admitted. “I have thought them inconsistent.”

Lady Biskup wriggled her eyebrows at him to get his attention, and then gave him a speaking look. “Perhaps you were mistaken, Jonathan,” she suggested.

“Well—” he began.

“We must accept the facts which Lord Reginald has given us,” Lady Biskup went on quickly, “because that is what he wished us to do. And Sophie . . .”

She turned to her niece and glowered at her. “I must insist that you give me your word you will never under any circumstances mention this to anyone but Jonathan and me. Before he died Lord Reginald charged me with making a decent match for you, and I cannot do so without your having an ironclad pedigree. If you allow the ton to catch even the slightest hint that you have doubts about your parentage, you will set tongues wagging furiously and we shall be undone. You must not confide in your closest friends—not even Jeanette—not in anyone, do you understand me?”

“Then you admit that there is something mysterious about my antecedents?” Sophie challenged her.

“No, I do not! You were brought to Lord Reginald by Timothy Althorpe on the eve of his departure for Russia. He had been appointed a military attaché and he was afraid the weather would be untenable for a baby. He then traveled with his wife to St. Petersburg. When he left the city, his destination was in the Crimea. Somewhere between those two points, Timothy and dear Rose . . . er, Lily . . . I mean Violet . . . disappeared. Neither of them has ever been heard from since.” She turned to Jonathan. “I shall swear you to secrecy, also.”

“Certainly,” he said.

“And you, Sophie? Do you swear to forget this nonsense and be content to enjoy the entertainments that London has to offer you, without probing and prying? For if you continue to meddle and search in this manner, I shall be obliged to return you to Vaile Priory immediately.”

Sophie frowned. “I promise not to speak of it, but I cannot swear that I will never wonder what is the truth. I am confident that this story is a fabrication—whose, I do not know, nor why it is being perpetuated—and I cannot keep myself from aching to discover the true identity of my parents and the reasons which prevent them from stepping forward and claiming their daughter. I have wondered . . .” She glanced shyly at Jonathan. “I may even be the child of the Prince Regent himself.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Biskup exclaimed. “You are not, I assure you.”

“Then who am I? That’s all I want to know.” She turned to Jonathan. “Don’t you also wonder about your parents? If you have no memory of your mother and father, don’t you sometimes suspect that you may actually be someone else?”

He considered for a moment and then shook his head. “No, there is no doubt that I’m the son of Michael and Matilda Gray.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“I’m told I bear a striking resemblance to Michael—so much so that I was recognized as his son when I was in a crowd of Indians in a little village not far from Calcutta. And certainly, at the time, I must have looked very much like a native, with my sun-browned skin and black hair. But Colonel Tobin, the regimental commander, took one look at me and said, ‘You must be Michael Gray’s son!’ And he dragged me back to the army post where I belonged. And there I stayed until Lord Reginald sent for me.”

“What were you doing in a little village with a crowd of Indians?” Sophie asked.

He grinned. “Learning to charm cobras.”

Lady Biskup shuddered.

But Sophie tilted her head to one side and clasped her hands. “Is that true? And did you learn?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “They do not teach children the art, as they wish the population to believe that it requires wisdom and magic to manipulate the wretched things. I learned, primarily, to avoid them.”

“Oh, Jonathan!” she exclaimed, pressing one hand over her heart. “I should love above all things to have such a skill. Could you teach me? I’ve heard that snake charmers are never bitten.”

He shook his head. “They’re bitten all too frequently.”

“Are they not immune?”

“No, they die. Cobra venom is quite deadly.”

Again Lady Biskup shuddered. “I shall not remain here another instant if you intend to dwell on this dreadful subject. It is altogether too ghastly and I am too weak to bear the horror of it after the suffering I have endured these last few days traveling inside that wretched coach. I shall go to my room and sink into the loving arms of Morpheus for a time, and I do not wish my dreams to be of writhing serpents.”

She rose to her feet and tugged at a bell pull. “And Jonathan, my love, I suggest that you also take advantage of this time to enjoy a small nap before dinner. You look thoroughly fagged.”

“I do?” he said, rising in surprise.

The butler appeared in the doorway.

“Master Jonathan is staying with us, Leeds,” she told him. “Please have a room prepared for him.”

“Yes, m’lady,” he said.

She swept past him and disappeared across the vestibule. With halting steps, the old man followed her. As soon as they had both departed, Sophie rose and, slipping a hand through Jonathan’s arm, drew him across the room to a far corner.

“Do you believe her?” she whispered. “So fanciful, all these tales! Russia is a vast country, I grant you, but how can anyone of importance disappear without a trace? Surely, if there had been an accident—even foul play—someone in that country would have discovered it and sent word to the family.”

He nodded. “I agree that there is probably more to the story. But Sophie . . .”

He put a hand under her chin and raised her face to his. As he looked deep into her eyes, he felt himself so lost in their velvety brown depths, in the cream of her cheeks, the soft pink of her lips that he forgot for a moment what he had meant to say. Then her brows rose expectantly, and he struggled back to reality, marshaling his thoughts.

“You must heed her warning and keep these suspicions to yourself,” he told her. “If there is any hint that your birth is questionable, the entire ton will drop you instantly—that I know.”

“I have heard that such is the case,” she said sadly. “I shall be obliged to keep my own counsel. But how shall I be able to discover the truth about myself? I have memories, you see, which contradict Aunt Ruth’s tale. For one thing, I remember my mother.”

“Indeed?”

She moved away from him, pausing in front of a window to stare at the darkened pane. “I remember a beautiful, laughing woman with brown eyes and black hair. I can still see her face bending over me. That would not be possible if I had lost my mother while I was still an infant—as you did—would it?”

“Perhaps the woman was a visitor,” he suggested.

“No, she was my mother, I am sure of that. And I believe she lived at Vaile Priory for a time, because I have an earring which I found entangled in the fabric of a sofa. I can remember the day I discovered it. I was still quite young, but I knew at once that it had belonged to my mother because I had seen her wear it. It is made of sapphires and diamonds—beautiful hanging stones. I’ve kept it hidden from Aunt Ruth all these years.”

“How strange of you not to tell her you found it. Certainly you don’t feel that Aunt Ruth, of all people, is hostile to you in any way?”

“No, but I am confident she is hiding something from me.”

“So you are both keeping secrets,” he said in a low voice.

“There is more,” she told him. “I remember an old woman who used to live at the Priory. I believe she was my nurse. Did you ever hear mention of anyone named Agnes Baxter?”

He thought for a moment then shook his head. “No, I’m confident I have never heard the name.”

Sophie sighed. “Somehow I have it in the back of my mind that she went away to London ‘to visit the queen’ when I was tiny. And I’m convinced she will be able to give me facts about my infancy, if only we can find her.”

“I’ll do a bit of investigating,” he said. “Perhaps I can discover something.”

“Will you?” she cried, slipping an arm around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder. “Will you help me, dearest Jonathan? If you do, I’ve no doubt we’ll be able to clear away this dreadful mystery. You always accomplish everything you set out to do.”

Jonathan, who had stiffened with surprise at her touch, unwound her arms and gently pushed her away from him. Under his tan, his cheeks had darkened.

“Sophie,” he chided, “you must never put your arms around me. If you should, by some chance, forget yourself in front of others, you would immediately be labeled
brazen
.”

“But I shall not,” she assured him. Unaware of his agitation, she caught one of his hands and raised it to her cheek. “You’ll soon solve this mystery for me, I am confident. At first I feared that some terrible secret was at the core—that my birth was perhaps tainted—and I was afraid to learn the facts. But then I realized my fears were unfounded. Lord Reginald would never have taken me into his care if my birth had not been impeccable.

She sighed forlornly. “But who, indeed, can my parents have been? I have wondered if, perhaps, I am the child of some illustrious individual who wishes my existence to remain a secret. Perhaps my father was one of Lord Reginald’s eminent friends.” She bit her lip. “What I cannot understand is why Aunt Ruth keeps my history a secret. I’m confident she knows the truth, but chooses to conceal it.”

“I’m of that opinion, also,” Jonathan agreed. “But even without her cooperation, you and I will get to the root of it before long, never fear.”

* * * *

When it was time for Sophie to find her bedroom and refresh herself before dinner, she made a quick running tour of the lower levels of the house, opening doors to peek into various public rooms. To her delight she found charm and beauty everywhere—lofty salons with lush carpets and sparkling chandeliers. She was especially thrilled by the intricately carved plaster ceilings; and to her delight the scrolls on the walls of the staircases and corridors were repeated in the patterns of the thick garnet runners, lending stylishness and
de bon ton
touch that was nowhere to be found in the ancient corridors of Vaile Priory.

Sophie’s bedroom was decorated in blue and white. Her clothes had been unpacked. She found her maid, Anna Finch, bending over her dressing table, setting out combs and pins and bottles of lightly scented lotion.

“Ah, Anna,” she said, tossing her bonnet onto the bed. “We are here at last.”

“Aye, miss,” Anna agreed. “’Tis elegant hoos, this, an’ a pleasure to be ’ere. Everythin’ modern an’ easy for servants.”

A large bathtub, from which inviting tendrils of steam arose, had been placed on a mat in front of a fireplace, which contained a comfortably crackling blaze. As Sophie stood in front of Anna and the girl began to remove her plain redingote and traveling dress, another maid entered with a large pail of water on her shoulder. Bobbing politely to her new mistress, she hurried across the room and emptied the contents into the tub.

“That be all, Meggie,” Anna told her.

“Yes, ma’am,” Meggie replied.

The moment the girl had departed and closed the door, Anna giggled. “Knows her place, do Meggie. I like it ’ere, Miss Sophie. Won’t find nobody ‘
ma’aming
’ me at Vaile. I be only
young Anna
at ’ome. But ’ere I got respect. Even Leeds an’ Cook an’ the rest, they all bobs to me, they do.”

“That’s as it should be,” Sophie said.

Anna helped her mistress into the tub, and then as Sophie settled into the warm water and let out a sigh of relief, Anna began to fold her undergarments and place them in a pile.