Sophia: A Romance

  CHAPTER IV.

  A DISCOVERY

  The scene in the gardens had moved Sophia's feelings so deeply that,notwithstanding the glamour Hawkesworth's exploit had cast over her, aword of kindness addressed to her on her arrival in Arlington Streetmight have had far-reaching results. Unfortunately her sister's temperand Mr. Northey's dulness gave sweet reasonableness small place.Scarcely had the chairmen been dismissed, the chairs carried out, andthe door closed on them before Mr. Northey's indignation found vent."Sophia, I am astonished!" he said in portentous tones; and, dull ashe was, he _was_ astonished. "I could not have believed you wouldbehave in this way!"

  "The more fool you!" Mrs. Northey snapped; while the girl, white andred by turns, too proud to fly, yet dreading what was to come, hungirresolute at the foot of the stairs, apparently fumbling with herhood, and really growing harder and harder with each reproach that waslevelled at her.

  "After all I said to you this morning!" Mr. Northey continued, glaringat her as if he found disobedience to orders such as his a thingbeyond belief. "When I had prohibited in the most particular mannerall communications with that person, to go and--and meet him in aplace of all places the most scandalous in which to be alone with aman."

  "La, Northey, it was that made her do it!" his wife rejoined sourly."Go to bed, miss, and we will talk to you to-morrow. I suppose youthought we were taken in with your fine tale of your brother?"

  "I never said it was my brother!" Sophia cried, hotly.

  "Go to bed. Do you hear? I suppose you have sense enough to do thatwhen you are told," her sister rejoined. "We will talk to youto-morrow."

  Sophia choked, but thought better of it, and turning away, creptupstairs. After all, she whispered, as her hands squeezed convulsivelythe poor hood that had not offended her, it mattered little. If hewere good to her what recked it of others, their words, or theiropinion? What had they ever done for her that she should be guided bythem, or what, that she should resign the happiness of her life attheir bidding? They had no real care for her. Here was no question offather or mother, or the respect due to their wishes; of kindness,love, or gratitude. Of her brother-in-law, who bullied her in hisdull, frigid fashion, she knew little more than she knew of a man inthe street; and her sister spared her at the best a cold selfishaffection, the affection of the workman for the tools by which hehopes he may some day profit.

  Naturally, her thoughts reverted to the lover who that evening hadshown himself in his true colours, a hero worthy of any poor girl'saffection. Sophia's eyes filled with tears, and her bosom rose andfell with soft emotion as she thought of him and pictured him; as sheflushed anew beneath his ardent glances, as she recalled the past andpainted a future in which she would lie safe in the haven of his love,secured from peril by the strength of his arm. What puny figures thebeaux and bloods of town looked beside him! With what grace he movedamong them, elbowing one and supplanting another. It was no wonderthey gazed after him enviously, or behind his back vented their pettyspite in sneers and innuendos, called him Teague, and muttered ofMurphies and the bog of Arran. The time would come--and oh, how sheprayed it might come quickly--when the world would discover the parthe had played; when, in a Stuart England, he would stand forward thefriend of Cecil, the agent of Ormonde, and the town would recognise inthe obscurity in which he now draped himself and at which theyscoffed, the cloak of the most daring and loyal conspirator that everwrought for the rightful king!

  For this was the secret he had whispered in Sophia's ear; this was theexplanation he had given of the cold looks men cast on him in public.Nor was it too incredible for the belief of a romantic girl. In thatyear, 1742, the air in London was full of such rumours, and London,rumour said, was full of such men. The close of Sir Robert Walpole'slong and peaceful administration, and the imminence of war withFrance, had raised the hopes of the Jacobites to the highest pitch.Though the storm did not break in open war until three years later, italready darkened the sky, and filled the capital with its rumblings.Alike in the Cabinet, where changes were frequent and great men few,and in the country where people looked for something, they hardly knewwhat, unrest and uneasiness prevailed. Many a sturdy squire inLancashire and Shropshire, many a member at Westminster, from Shipponand Sir Watkyn downwards, passed his glass over the water-jug as hedrank the King; and if Sophia, as she drew her withered flower fromits hiding-place, that it might lie beneath her pillow through thenight, prayed for King James and his cause, she did only what many apretty Jacobite, and some who passed for Whigs, were doing at the samehour.

  In the meantime, and pending the triumph for which she longed sopassionately, her dear hero's pretensions helped her not a whit; onthe contrary, were they known, or suspected, they would sink him lowerthan ever in the estimation of her family. This thought it was that,as she lay revolving matters, raised in her mind an increasing barrierbetween her and her sister. The Northeys were firm Whigs, pledged notless by interest than by tradition to the White Horse of Hanover. Theyhad deserted Sir Robert at his utmost need, but merely to serve theirown turn; because his faction was drooping, and another, equallyWhiggish, was in the ascendant, certainly with no view to a StuartRestoration. Her Hawkesworth's success, therefore, meant their defeatand downfall; his triumph must cost them dear. To abide by them, andabide by him, were as inconsistent as to serve God and Mammon.

  Sophia, drawn to her lover by the strength of maiden fancy, saw this;she felt the interval between her and her family increase the longershe dwelt on the course to which her mind was being slowly moved. Theconsciousness that no compromise was possible had its effect upon her.When she was summoned to the parlour next day, a change had come overher; she went not shyly and shamefacedly, open to cajolery andkindness, as she had gone the previous day, when her opinion of herlover's merit had fallen short of the wrapt assurance that thismorning uplifted her. On the contrary, she went armed withdetermination as solemn in her own sight as it was provoking in theeyes of older and more sagacious persons.

  Mrs. Northey discerned the change the moment Sophia entered the room;and she was proportionately exasperated. "Oh, miss, so you'll followMiss Howe, will you?" she sneered, alluding to a tale of scandal thatstill furnished the text for many a sermon to the young and flighty."You'll take no advice!"

  "I hope I shall know how to conduct myself better, ma'am," Sophia saidproudly.

  Mr. Northey was less clear-sighted than his wife. He saw no change; hethought in all innocence that the matter was where he had left it.After clearing his throat, therefore, "Sophia," he said with muchmajesty, "I hope you have recovered your senses, and that conduct suchas that of which you were guilty last night will not be repeated whileyou are in our charge. Understand me; it must not be repeated. You arecountry bred, and do not understand that what you did is a veryserious matter, and quite enough to compromise a young girl."

  Sophia, disdaining to answer, spent her gaze on the picture above hishead. The withered flower was in her bosom; the heart that beatagainst it was full of wondering pity for her sister, who had beencompelled to marry this man--this man, ugly, cold, stiff, with noromance in his life, no secret--this man, at the touch of whose handshe, Sophia, shuddered.

  "I consider it so--so serious a transgression," Mr. Northey resumedpompously--little did he dream what she was thinking of him--"that theonly condition on which I can consent to overlook it is that you atonce, Sophia, do your duty by accepting the husband on whom we havefixed for you."

  "No," Sophia said, in a low but determined tone, "I cannot do that!"

  Mr. Northey fancied that he had not heard aright. "Eh," he said,"you----"

  "I cannot do that, sir; my mind is quite made up," she repeated.

  From her chair Mrs. Northey laughed scornfully at her husband'sconsternation. "Are you blind?" she said. "Cannot you see that theIrishman has turned the girl's head?"

  "Impossible!" Mr. Northey said.

  "Don't you hear her say that her mind is
made up?" Mrs. Northeycontinued contemptuously. "You may talk till you are hoarse, Northey,you'll get nothing; I know that. She's a pig when she likes."

  Mr. Northey glowered at the girl as if she had already broken allbounds. "But does she understand," he said, breathing hard, "thatmarriage with a person of--of that class, is impossible? And surely nomodest girl would continue to encourage a person whom she cannotmarry?"

  Still Sophia remained silent, her eyes steadily fixed on the pictureabove his head.

  "Speak, Sophia!" he cried imperatively. "This is impertinence."

  "If I cannot marry him," she said in a low voice, "I shall marry noone!"

  "If you cannot marry that--that Irish footman?" he gasped, burstinginto rage. "A penniless adventurer, who has not even asked you."

  "He has asked me," she retorted.

  "Oh, by Gad, ma'am, I've done with you," Mr. Northey cried, strikinghis fist on the table; and he added an expletive or two. "I hand youover to madam, there. Perhaps she can bring you to your senses. Imight have known it," he continued bitterly, addressing his wife."Like and like, madam! It's bred in the bone, I see!"

  "I don't know what you mean, Northey," his wife answered with a sneerof easy contempt. "If you had left the matter to me from thebeginning, 'twould have been done by now. Listen to me, MissObstinate. Is that the last word you'll give us?"

  "Yes," Sophia said, pluming herself a little on her victory.

  "Then you'll go into the country to-morrow! That's all!" was Mrs.Northey's reply. "We'll see how you like that!"

  The blow was unexpected. The girl's lips parted, and she looked wildlyat her sister. "Into the country?" she stammered.

  "Ay, sure."

  "To--to Cuckfield?" she asked desperately. After all, were she sent toher old home all was not lost. He had heard her speak of it; he knewwhere it was; he could easily trace her thither.

  "No, miss, not to Cuckfield," her sister replied, triumphing cruelly,for she read the girl's thoughts. "You'll go to Aunt Leah atChalkhill, and I wish you joy of her tantrums and her scraping. You'llgo early to-morrow; Mr. Northey will take you; and until you are awayfrom here I'll answer there shall be no note-palming. When you are ina better mind, and your Teague's in Bridewell, you may come back. Ifancy you'll be tamed by that time. It will need mighty littlepersuasion, I'm thinking, to bring you to marry Sir Hervey when you'vebeen at Aunt Leah's for three months."

  Sophia's lip began to tremble; her eyes roved piteously. Well mightthe prospect terrify her, for it meant not only exile from her lover,but an exile which she saw might be permanent. For how was he to findher? To Cuckfield, the family seat, he might trace her easily; but inthe poor hamlet on the Sussex coast, where her aunt, who had trippedin her time and paid the penalty, dragged on a penurious existence asthe widow of a hedge-parson, not so easily. There a poor girl mighteat out her heart, even as her aunt had eaten out hers, and no redressand no chance of rescue. Even had she the opportunity of writing toher lover she did not--unhappy thought--know where he lived.

  Mrs. Northey read her dismay, saw the colour fade in her cheek, andthe tears gather in her eyes, and with remorseless determination, withcruel enjoyment, drove the nail home.

  "There'll be no Vauxhall there," she sneered, "and mighty few drums orrouts, my dear! It's likely your first masquerade will be your last;and for the wine-merchant actor that you were to see at Goodman'sFields tomorrow, you may whistle for him; and for your dear Amorevoli.It's to be hoped, Miss Lucy, you'll find your Thomas worth it," shecontinued, alluding to the farce that held the town, "when you gethim." And then, changing her ground, with no little skill, "See here,child," she said, in the tone of one willing to argue, "are you goingon with this silliness? Think, my dear, think, while it is time, for'twill be too late at Chalkhill. You don't want to go and be buried inthat hole till your brother comes of age?"

  Sophia, resentful but terrified, subdued both by the prospect and bythe appeal to her reasonableness, had hard work to refrain from tearsas she uttered her negative. "No, I--I don't want to go," shestammered.

  "I thought not; then you shall have one more chance," Mrs. Northeyanswered, with a fair show of good nature. "If you'll give me yourword not to write to him, you shall have a week to think of it beforeyou go. But you'll keep your room--on that I must insist; there you'llhave time to think, and I hope by the end of the week you'll have cometo your senses, my dear. If not, you'll go to Aunt Leah."

  The mixture of severity and kindness was clever, and it had its effectupon poor Sophia, who stood weighing the alternatives with a ruefulface. While she remained in town, if she might not see him, she wasstill near him, and he near her. She would not be lost to him nor heto her; and then, what might not happen in a week? "I will promise,"she murmured, in a low uncertain tone.

  "Good," Mrs. Northey answered; "then you may go to your room."

  And to her room Sophia would have gone, in a mood fairly open to theinfluence of reason and solitude. But in an evil moment for himselfMr. Northey, smarting under a defeat which his wife's victory renderedthe more humiliating, thought he espied an opportunity of restoringhis dignity.

  "Yes, you may go," he said sourly; "but take this with you. You willsee there," he continued, fussily selecting a letter from a pile onthe table, and handing it to her, "what are the terms in which agentleman seeks an alliance with a lady. It is from Sir Hervey, and Ishall be much surprised if it does not produce a very differentimpression on you from that which that person has made."

  "I do not want it," Sophia answered; and held out the letter betweenher finger and thumb, as if it had an evil odour.

  "But I insist on your taking it," Mr. Northey replied with temper; andin spite of the warnings which his wife's contemptuous shrugs shouldhave conveyed to him, he repeated the command.

  "Then I will read it now," the girl answered, standing very upright,"if you order me to do so."

  "I do order you," he said; and still holding the folded sheet a littlefrom her, she opened it, and with a curling lip and half averted eye,began to read the contents. Suddenly Mrs. Northey took fright; Mr.Northey even was surprised by the change. For the girl's face grew redand redder; she stared at the letter, her lips parting widely, as inastonishment. At last, "What? What is this?" she cried, "Tom? Then itwas--it was Tom I saw last night."

  "Tom!" Mr. Northey exclaimed.

  "Yes, it was Tom!" Sophia cried; "and--oh, but this is dreadful! Thismust be--must be stopped at once!" she continued, looking from thepaper to them and back again with distended eyes. "He is mad to thinkof such a thing at his age; he is only a boy; he does not know what heis doing." Her voice shook with agitation.

  "What the deuce do you mean, miss?" her brother-in-law thundered,rising furious from his chair. "Have you taken leave of your senses?What do you mean by this--this nonsense."

  "THIS MUST BE--MUST BE STOPPED AT ONCE!"]

  "Mean?" his wife answered with bitter emphasis. "She means that,instead of giving her Coke's letter, you have given her the Cambridgeletter; the letter from Tom's tutor. You have done it, like the foolyou always are, Northey."

  Mr. Northey swore violently. "Give it me!" he cried harshly. "Do youhear, girl? Give it me!" And he stretched out his hand to recover theletter.

  But something in the excess of his chagrin, or in the words of thereproach Mrs. Northey had flung at him roused suspicion in the girl'smind. She recoiled, holding the paper from him. "It is five days old!"she gasped; "you have had it four days--three at least; and you havesaid nothing about it. You have not told me! And you have donenothing!" she continued, her mind jumping instinctively to the truth,at which Mr. Northey's guilty face hinted not obscurely. "He is on thebrink of ruining himself with this woman, and you stand by though youare told what she is, and were told three days ago. Why? Why?" Sophiacried, as Mr. Northey, with an oath, snatched the letter from her."What does it mean?"

  "Mean? Why, that one unruly child is enough to manage at a time!" Mrs.Northey answered, rising to the occasion. She
spoke with venom, and nowonder; her hands tingled for her husband's ears. He had improvedmatters with a vengeance. "It's fine talking, you little toad," shecontinued, with a show of reason; "but if you don't listen to sensewho are here, how are we to persuade him, and he not here? Tell methat, miss. A nice pattern of discretion and prudence you are to talk.Hang your impudence!"

  "But you have done nothing," Sophia wailed, her affection for herbrother keeping her to the point. "And I saw him last night; it was hewhom I saw at Vauxhall. I could have spoken to him, and I am sure hewould have listened to me."

  "Listened to his grandmother!" Mrs. Northey retorted, with acridcontempt. "We have done what we think right, and that is enough foryou, you baby. A nasty disobedient little toad, running into the verysame folly yourself, and then prating of us, and what we should do!Hang your fine talking; I've no patience with you, and so I tell you,miss."

  "But," Sophia said slowly, her voice grown timid, "I don'tunderstand----"

  "Who cares whether you understand!"

  "Why--why you make so much of marrying me the way you wish, and yetlet him go his way? If he does this, you'll get some of his money Iknow, but it cannot be that. It couldn't be that. And yet--andyet--" she cried, with a sudden flush of generous indignation, asconviction was borne in upon her by Mr. Northey's hang-dogface--"yes, it is that! Oh, for shame! for shame! Are you his sister,and will ruin him? Will ruin him for the sake of--of money!"

  "Silence, you minx!" Mrs. Northey cried; and she rose, her face whitewith rage, and seizing her sister's arm, she shook her violently. "Howdare you say such things? Do you hear? Be silent!"

  But Sophia was beside herself with passion, she would not be silent.Neither the dead Northeys on the walls, nor the living sister shouldstifle the expression of her feelings.

  "I take back my promise," she cried, panting with excitement; herwords were scarcely coherent. "Do you hear? Do you understand? Ipromise nothing after this. You may beat me if you like; you may lockme up, it will be all the same. I'll go into the country to-morrow,but I'll make no promise. I shall see Hawkesworth if I can! I shallrun away to him if I can! I'd rather do anything--anything in theworld after this, than go on living with you."

  "You'll not go on living with me!" Mrs. Northey answered throughpinched lips, and her eyes glittered after an ugly fashion. "I'll seeto that, you little scald-tongue! You'll go to Aunt Leah and feedpigs, and do plain-stitch; I hope it may agree with those dainty handsof yours. And you'll run away from there if you can. She'll see tothat. I'll be bound she'll break some of that pretty spirit of yours,grand as you think yourself. So because your precious Tom chooses totake up with some drab or other, you put it on us, do you? Go, youlittle vixen," Mrs. Northey continued harshly, "go to your room beforeI do you a mischief! You'll not promise, but the key shall. Up, miss,up, we will have no more of your tantrums!"

  Reduced to tears, and broken down by the violence of her emotions,Sophia asked nothing better than to escape, and be alone with hermisery. She turned, and as quickly as she could she hurried from theroom. Fast as she went, however, Mrs. Northey pushed after her,treading on her heels, and forcing her on. What passed between themMr. Northey could not hear, but in no long time Mrs. Northey was downagain, and flung a key on the table. "There," she cried, her nosetwitching with the constraint she put upon her rage. "And what do youthink of your management now, Mr. Imbecile?"

  "I always said," he answered sullenly, "that we ought to tell her."

  "You always said."

  "Yes, I did."

  "_You_ always said!" his wife cried, her eyes flashing with the scornshe made no attempt to hide. "And was not that a very good reason fordoing the other thing? Wasn't it, Mr. Northey? Wasn't it? Oh, Lord!why did God give me a fool for a husband?"