They went off talking, leaving Sophia and Sally with all the dirty dishes.
It was only then that Sophia discovered that Mr. Gregory, in his excitement, had forgotten the rest of the post, among which was another packet of letters directed to the Wentworths. This packet, the thinnest yet, was easily overlooked.
Sophia attacked the housework with renewed vigor in order to win the time to read Frederick’s new letters.
Sophia’s fingers were well wrinkled when she called Edward inside, and together they retreated to the empty schoolroom, with its rays of strong sunlight slanting in and turning the swirls of chalk dust to tiny fires. They dropped on the battered form and began opening the seals, each noticing that the letters were a single sheet only, and though writ on back and front, not even crossed as had been all his earlier, longer letters.
Edward began reading aloud the topmost letter. He and Sophia both suppressed their impatience at Frederick’s scrupulously polite responses to news that had been old when it reached him. It seemed like ancient history.
“I wonder how long it will be until he discovers I am removed to school,” Edward remarked, holding the second letter, which smelled strongly of brine, up to the window and squinting. “This one appears to have fallen directly into the sea. I cannot make out but a word here and there.”
“Do they dunk these into the brine before sealing them?” Sophia rejoined, examining the third.
Neither expected an answer from the other. They were too busy trying to decipher the words. Sophia found herself bent over until her nose nearly touched the smudged paper, before she had to give up entirely on her letter, and she turned to the fourth.
“Near shipwreck,” Edward exclaimed suddenly, looking up from the fifth. “Here is an apology, but he is sending it anyway in case we can make it out.”
“Shipwreck! Upon my word!” Sophia pounced on the sixth, breaking the seal with rare impatience.
“An hurricano,” Edward exclaimed. “And . . . I think he is now in another ship altogether. But only a line.”
They looked at one another, neither wanting to admit to a vast disappointment. Even if they had had all the words, these letters altogether barely made the sum of Frederick’s first after he left home.
Sophia opened the last one and sat back at the pungent odor of mildew. It seemed that Frederick, in his haste, had put wet paper with dry. Or someone had. They looked at one another in disappointment. Six letters—six short letters, and only half of one and a few lines of another were legible.
Sophia set down the last and wiped her fingers on her apron. “What do we write to him? I hardly know what to say,” Sophia remarked.
Edward shook his head. “It is not his fault about the mildew. And though he is writing less, he might not think that a fault at all. He might not have occasion to write as much.”
“True, true. He is bound to have risen in importance, and that would mean less time of his own.” Sophia straightened up, shaking out her mildew-smeared apron, and impatiently shoved back her tousled hair. The jerky movement caused a straining seam under her arm to give way.
“Oh, look at that,” she exclaimed. “This gown was meant to have seen me out the season. I am grown too stout, that is the truth of it.”
Edward paused in the act of painstakingly collecting their brother’s letters. “Too stout?” he repeated, as if the words had no meaning. His eyes, made larger by the winking spectacles, blinked in puzzlement.
Sophia bit her lip. Mrs. Gregory, in her more peevish moments, had taken to commenting upon how gentlemen preferred an elegant, sylph-like form—such as her own—and that it was a shame when girls got themselves overgrown. But Sophia had never forgotten her aunts’ disparaging remarks, and subsequently had not reached the age of seventeen without an unflinching assessment taken in the tiny looking glass up in that small attic chamber that she shared with Sally, the kitchen maid and Molly, the housemaid.
She had formed the resolution that she would never marry—that Mrs. Gregory was right in hinting that she was unmarriageable—but it was just as well. Who would keep house for Edward if she abandoned him, only to be keeping house for some unknown gentleman? Edward was a fine scholar, but unworldly; though he was still full young, already he was strongly disinclined to become a schoolmaster, still less a barrister. His strongest motivation was toward the church.
So she said nothing in answer to his question, but held out her hand. “I will put these with the others. Unreadable as they are, I cannot bring myself to throw them away.”
Edward opened his mouth to agree, but turned his head when red-cheeked Sally appeared at the door, her cap askew. “The missus sent me to bring o’you to the front parlor,” she said breathlessly, eyes wide. “There’s someone come along for to see you!”
Edward and Sophia turned toward one another, each puzzled who it might be. Neither had ever had a caller; boys did not get callers, and though Sophia had reached the age where it might be thought of, Mrs. Gregory kept her so busy and so close that Sophia had never made any female friends in town. And as for young men, Mrs. Gregory had made plain that hers was a respectable house, and any female who dared to walk out with a suitor would be dismissed instantly, without good character.
“It must be for you, surely,” Sophia said.
“Perhaps, but it seems odd that St. Winstan’s would send someone hard on their letter,” Edward observed.
“Well, go and find out,” Sophia said. “I will put these away while you wait upon this mysterious caller.”
They parted, but Sophia was not halfway up the narrow staircase to the attic when Edward’s voice reached her, “Sophia!”
The crack in his voice sped her feet; she clutched the letters to her bosom and raced back down, bursting into the parlor, where she came to an abrupt stop when she spied two unfamiliar figures wearing the blue coats of the navy, one with the white collar patch of the midshipman, the other the buttons of a lieutenant.
The short, thin midshipman gazed at her in with such intensity from dark eyes—familiar eyes—
“Sophia,” Edward exclaimed, his finger pressing his spectacles to his nose as if he could not believe the witness of his eyes. “Do you not see? It is Frederick!”
The letters dropped unnoticed to the floor. With a cry of joy she hurled herself into her brother’s arms, the seam beneath her arm ripping even further.
Frederick hugged her crushingly, then set her back and she looked at him with all her eyes. He was so deeply tanned, and looked so . . . not old, for he was no more than fifteen, but so, so grown, even manly. “Frederick? How comes it that you are here?”
“We exchanged into Bucephalus, which on reaching Portsmouth, we were paid off. Then Croft here, oh! Lt. Croft, may I present my sister Soph—Miss Wentworth? At all events, he was on his way home, and that being not far outside of Taunton, kindly offered me a place in the shay. Or I should be toiling up the London road on the mail coach at this moment.”
Sophia’s astonished gaze transferred to the tall, strongly built young man whose blue eyes were well spaced, his brown skin a healthy contrast to his powdered wig. He smiled genially.
Suddenly conscious of her apron covered with mildew, her wild hair, and the horrid rip under her arm, she clutched her hands to her sides and curtseyed stiffly.
Frederick let out an exclamation. “Ho! I recognize those. My letters—Jupiter! I sent them into a passing whaler six, eight months ago. They swore they would touch at Portsmouth by Christmas. Well!”
Sophia dipped her knees to pick them up, but the seam ripped more with an audible sound, and she shot upright, blushing hotly; her brothers laughed, which caused her to laugh as well. Edward dove at her feet and scrambled the letters together, saying easily to their brother, “We were attempting to decipher them not an hour ago. They seem the worse for a sea bathe.”
Frederick threw up his hands. “All I can say is, they were wrapped in good canvas before I sent them. I suspect some pair of hands along
the way decided my canvas suited his purpose better. Hey day, I’ll know better another time!”
Sophia said, “We were just celebrating Edward’s good news, and there are seed cakes and the Escubac we put up this summer, if you would care to partake.”
“I am confounded hungry,” Frederick said.
Lt. Croft bowed. “I wish I could accept, Miss Wentworth, but I’m on my way to my uncle, who keeps early hours. If I may call again?”
“You would be most welcome,” she said easily, for she was accustomed to the company of the household’s young scholars, whose brothers and cousins sometimes called—before she remembered Mrs. Gregory’s rules. Though surely this gentleman would be considered her brother’s caller?
Mrs. Gregory was not pleased. The delight in those prospective raised fees had faded with the reflection that as yet they were far from being money in hand, whereas here in person was another ravenous young master, on top of a house full of them.
No sooner had Sophia set down plates before her brothers than the querulous cry “Miss Wentworth” echoed along the passage. Frederick immediately understood from the face that Edward pulled that something was amiss. At Edward’s beckon, they tiptoed to the door.
The narrow hallway conducted sound excellently, enabling the boys to hear Mrs. Gregory’s disquisition on exactly how much boys ate, and how little profit was to be made when members of the household practiced upon her generosity. There was more—a great deal more—in a similar vein, after which Sophia was sent to get dinner begun.
She returned to the kitchen where both boys waited in silence. She had been struggling against resentment and humiliation, puzzling what to say, but a glance at their faces made it plain that both had heard.
“Pay it no mind, Sophia, I shall shift myself to the Badgers Three,” Frederick said, low-voiced. “I can dine in ordinary. What do you think of the people there?”
Sophia was obliged to grip herself lest she exclaim her feelings. Here was Frederick among them again—and yet he must remove himself due to Mrs. Gregory’s pinchpenny ways.
She knew it would do no good to let out her feelings, and a great deal of harm if she were overheard. So she let out her breath, and put her mind to the question.
She might have no friends or callers, but she knew the reputations of all the shopkeepers along the street, including Mrs. Ingle, who kept the Badgers Three inn. “Mrs. Ingle is sister to the baker, and knows some of his secrets, for her tarts are excellent, and she has a way with fishcakes that brings her custom.”
“Good,” Frederick said. “Come to me tomorrow at dinner—oh, dash it, I did not think. Will you be let come?”
“Oh, I believe so, as long as my work is done,” Sophia said, crossing her arms. She was quite certain that Mrs. Gregory might pretend to oblige her and Edward for the sake of family, but she would actually welcome the opportunity to feed two fewer.
“Capital! And if I should be late, just wait for me.”
On this somewhat mysterious note he picked up his dunnage, which he carried in a canvas receptacle, and let himself out the kitchen way, so as to avoid the family at the front of the house.
Sophia put the untouched seed cakes back into the pantry, and whisked away the evidence of the would-be party.
As she set about the preparations for dinner, she wondered what Frederick had meant about being late. He was so very changed! She had expected that, of course. But to have him here, and though he had not grown all that much taller—she was accustomed to the larger and older of Mr. Gregory’s pupils—he was so very brown, and so resolute. So very changed.
One thing she could do, she promised herself as she set out the mixing bowls, would be to rise before dawn, that she could have all her share of the work well in hand by dinner time.
In this she was successful. All the work was done by noon, and Mrs. Gregory, venturing into the kitchen and looking about with satisfaction, graciously gave her consent to Sophia to accompany her younger brother to the inn.
Sophia had never before gone out on her own, and found herself filled with a delicious sense of change, of importance and bustle and curiosity. Self-conscious in the least objectionable of her old gowns, she paced by Edward’s side, their steps matching under their shared umbrella as rain poured down all around them. No summer’s day could have found them in higher spirits as they anticipated this high treat.
They walked into the warm inn, looking about in wonder to be there as custom, and breathed in the welcoming aromas of braised meats and blackberry pie. Frederick met them, having been on the watch. He rubbed his hands, grinning very much like the little boy Sophia had hid her tears from on his departure so long ago.
“Here you are, Edward, Sophia,” he said, taking each by the hand. “Come, come. Pray come into this chamber I’ve hired. Here is Croft to meet you,” he added, leading them to a narrow room with dark wainscotting in which a table had been prepared.
For Frederick, nothing seemed more natural than to invite his generous friend once he discovered that Croft, whose old uncle had taken to his bed, was left with time on his hands and nothing to do. His uncle’s kitchen was entirely organized around the needs of an elderly man with an uncertain appetite, the main dish being gruel. Of course he must share the dinner Frederick had so grandly ordered—just as Frederick had been invited by the generous lieutenant when they touched at the Cape, Gib, or Portsmouth.
Sophia found herself obliged to suppress a sense of sharp disappointment. She had not been prepared to share Frederick with a stranger. But in the time it took to set aside the umbrella and divest themselves of coats and gloves, she scolded herself silently. She must remember her earlier resolve: his shipmates were become his brethren. It was they, and not she and Edward, with whom he had been sharing all the dangers and joys of his life. She must take them all as she found them.
At least on this occasion she was decently gowned, she reflected as Lt. Croft came forward to shake hands. He looked less imposing than the day previous; Sophia saw that he now wore his own hair, instead of the regulation wig. His hair was ordinary brown, but it waved over his brow, and framed his face just so. He wore a plain brown coat, well-made, but without gigantic buttons, or any of the accoutrements of the popinjay, such as many of Mr. Gregory’s pupils had favored.
Somehow, the plainness of Lt. Croft’s coat made him look taller, and broader, and older than any of the students she had known (a couple of whom had left Mr. Gregory past the age of twenty)—no, he did not look old, as one should say an old man, but . . . she peered uncertainly at him again, to find him smiling right at her. That smile was so reassuring, so kindly, so . . . warm.
She sat abruptly upon her chair.
As the dressed meats were bringing out by two servants, followed by four side dishes, Frederick looked upon each with the delight and pride of a father, greatly diverting Sophia. Ordinarily she would have asked who was to pay for so grand a meal, but she determined not to say anything before the fascinating stranger that did not accord with company manners.
Edward had no compunctions. He shoved his spectacles up his nose as he gazed with open glee at the feast before them. “Capital, Frederick,” he exclaimed. “You must have laid out a prodigious sum!”
“Pray enjoy yourselves,” Frederick said, gesturing grandly. “Sophia, may I help you to some of this ham?”
The conscious way he carved and served made Sophia wonder if he was aping the manners of his captain. It was odd to see a fifteen-year-old boy hosting as if he’d been doing so for these twenty years, but she had to admit he did it well. How many captain’s dinners had taught him the niceties, and in what strange places?
“So, Edward, you are to go up to St. Winstan’s?”
“As soon as the long vac is over,” Edward said thickly around a mouthful of ham.
“And our sister?” Frederick turned from him to Sophia. “Did you desire to remain as housekeeper for the Gregorys?”
“Desire? No. That is, I had not given the
matter a thought,” she amended quickly, lest it be thought she complained about her lot. “There is nowhere else for me,” she added, sending another peek at Lt. Croft to see how he reacted to these personal tidings, which did not accord with company manners. She caught another of those smiles that warmed her inside as surely as the merry fire toasted her outside, before he turned to her brother.
Frederick exchanged a meaning look with Lt. Croft that immediately set Sophia to wondering, then he said, “Are you happy there?”
Sophia could not prevent another glance at Lt. Croft before saying with that inner resolve not to seem a complainer, “It’s as good a place as any. I am used to the work.”
“I am wondering,” Frederick said with a bright glance and a lift to his chin, “if you might want a cottage of your own. So that when Edward comes home, there is somewhere to go, where he will not be stuffed in among a parcel of boys, and your every bite grudged.”
Hope flared inside Sophia, to be instantly quashed. “I may as well wish for the moon,” she said, trying to smile.
Frederick beamed in triumph. “As it happens, I cannot give you the moon, but I can give you the house. Well, a very small cottage. We arranged it, that is, Croft here helped me to it, the landlord not wishing to deal with a fellow my age. It’s not far, closer to St. Winstan’s—a walk no more than five miles, they said. We can go there in the gig tomorrow, if you like, and you can look it over and decide.”
“What?”
“How!”
Frederick greatly enjoyed his brother’s and sister’s surprise. “We arranged it this morning. As it happens, Croft’s uncle knows a land agent, who is acquainted with the landlord, Squire Forsham. It’s called Widow’s Cottage, untenanted these four years. The rent is eight pounds six a year, and it is a bit cobwebby inside, and needing new hangings and things, but you will not mind that, surely?”
“Oh, to have my own house,” Sophia breathed. “But eight pounds a year? My share of our ten pounds would not cover that, much less leave anything for food.”