“I pray that it is, and that you will take it,” Sophie said, tapping her foot again. “Can you see me dancing and flirting? I can’t. But you would be so happy. You could go to art museums and become a proper artist—”
“What about the Great Exhibition?”
“Lady Bentley clearly wrote that I wouldn’t be going,” Sophie said glumly. “Society has the most ridiculous notions about a woman’s place. I can bake bread or go to local balls, but I’m not to work with mechanisms or create machinery.”
“I wish we could both go,” Mariah said wistfully. “Mrs. Ellis is with child again, and they don’t really have the space for us anymore. Sarah and Agnes are getting big enough now to help with the smaller children. We’re only a burden on them.”
“Is that why she’s so cantankerous? I should’ve guessed,” Sophie said. “Well, then we both should go.”
As soon as Sophie spoke those words aloud, her tapping foot stilled, the nervous tension that had caused her fidgeting dissipated. It was the perfect solution, a chance for them both to start afresh. The fragile hope that had sparked within her chest at the prospect of attending the exhibition began to grow into a flame of resolution.
Sophie grabbed her sister by her bony shoulders. “Come with me, Mariah.”
“Lady Bentley can only stand the burden of one of us,” Mariah reminded her. A tear slipped from her eye and fell down her cheek.
“We won’t tell her that there are two of us,” Sophie said.
“What?”
“We’ll both be ‘Sophie’ and take turns going on outings and such. We could wear the same clothes and share a bedroom.”
“And what exactly will the second Sophie do while the other is with Lady Bentley?” Mariah asked doubtfully, wiping away another tear with the back of her hand.
“Explore London! Perhaps the window to our room will be accessible by a roof or balcony of some sort,” Sophie said loudly, her excitement bursting out into her voice. “Either way, I daresay I could come up with an invention to aid in our exits and entrances.”
“The whole idea is ridiculous,” Mariah said with a sniff.
“The best ideas always are,” Sophie assured her, feeling more and more confident with every passing moment.
“We may be identical, but we are not at all the same.”
“Mariah, you know we have nowhere else to go but the workhouse,” Sophie said. “And you also know that we can’t stay here forever. You can find a husband in London or become a painter, but there is nothing for us here. Unless you’d like to marry the butcher’s son. His attentions have been quite marked, and Mrs. Ellis likes the extra meat it gets her.”
“I couldn’t marry Mr. Adams,” Mariah said with a shiver. “He has leering eyes.”
“Then stop arguing with me and come to London.”
“I suppose we could try…,” Mariah said. “But what if we get caught?”
Sophie shrugged. “Lady Bentley would send one or both of us back here, but we wouldn’t be any worse off than we are now.”
Mariah nodded her head slowly, as if considering the possibilities. “It would be a great adventure to go to London.”
“That’s the spirit, Mariah!” Sophie said, hugging her sister. “You start packing and I’ll finish Mrs. Bidwell’s clock.”
* * *
Sophie and Mariah stood waiting at the train station in Dorchester—a newly built brick building with a steep roofline. Five other people stood on the cement platform: two ladies in fine dresses and three gentlemen wearing tall black top hats. The fashionable travelers gave the sisters a cursory glance before turning away from them as if they were dirt. Sophie looked down at her worn gray dress and scuffed, secondhand boots. Mariah held their shabby carpetbag, and Sophie held a basket of bread and fruit. She had baked the bread herself, and she had been quite touched when Mrs. Ellis had given them some fruit to go with it.
“You’ll be hungry on your journey,” Mrs. Ellis had said. “Keep your money and belongings close. There are thieves on the train.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ellis,” Sophie said, managing a handshake for each of the Ellises.
Mr. Ellis had palmed her a shilling coin as he shook her hand. He then patted her shoulder and said his usual phrase: “You’re a good girl, Sophie.”
Mariah had wept freely and hugged each Ellis child twice. Then she’d sniffed the entire twenty-five-mile ride to the Dorchester train station. Mr. Fisby had been kind enough to let them sit in the back of his wagon, which saved them a long, dusty walk.
Mariah started to cry again as they stood on the platform. One of the gentlemen raised his quizzing glass and studied Mariah as the tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Would you please stop crying?” Sophie begged. “Your face is redder than your hair.”
Mariah sniffed loudly and blew her nose in their shared handkerchief, which was already soaked through. “We may never see them again.”
“I sincerely hope so,” Sophie said remorselessly. “We were Mrs. Ellis’s unpaid servants for eight years, and the only thing Mr. Ellis ever did was spend every penny on drink or laudanum.”
“But what about the Ellis children?”
“I hope to never change another nappy,” Sophie said. “The world is ours, Mariah. Stop weeping over an attic.”
Mariah eventually stopped crying and even accepted a green apple from her sister.
Sophie saw the steam before she saw a train for the very first time. She turned to watch the locomotive arrive into the station; it was beautiful. Smoke billowed around them as they made their way to the third-class coach. A porter opened the door for them and took their one-way tickets.
The lower-class coach was quite crowded. Sophie wished she could have ridden in the engine car and learned all about how it worked, but she knew that was not possible. The sisters squeezed onto a bench between a very large matron and a short man who smelled strongly of tobacco. They watched out the window for the first several hours before the green fields started to blend together. Mariah eventually fell asleep on Sophie’s shoulder and Sophie allowed her head to rest against her sister’s.
* * *
Sophie awoke to a bump and the sound of squealing brakes. She looked out the window and saw that the sun had already begun to set. In the dim light of dusk, she could only make out the shadows of tall buildings.
She shook Mariah, who was still asleep on her shoulder. “We’re here.”
Mariah rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “It’s already dark. How late is it?”
“Past eight o’clock,” said the large matron. “Is someone meeting you two girls at Waterloo Station?”
“We are to go to our aunt’s home, near Hyde Park,” Sophie replied.
“That’s not too far,” the matron said. “Only a couple of miles after you cross Westminster Bridge.”
“Oh dear,” Mariah said. “Do we dare arrive at our aunt’s house so late in the evening? Is it even safe for us to walk after dark?”
“If you’re looking for accommodations for the night,” the matron said, “my sister runs a respectable boardinghouse not a block from here, and her rates are most reasonable. I could take you there myself. That’s where I’m headed.”