Papa sat in a wingback chair by a partially open window, well away from the insipid fire that Mama insisted upon. He had a calm disposition, gray curls to the nape of his neck, and a Vandyke beard of brown, black, and gray.
Lowering his newspaper, he looked over the edge at her. “Nothing to do today?” he asked, staring at her with a quizzical expression.
“No, actually. I have come about a request from Cousin Daphne,” Sophia said offhandedly, hoping to get approval without having to produce the overly dramatic letter. Father thought little of high emotions and would not be swayed by them. “She has requested a visit, a distraction from the upcoming anniversary of Andrew’s death.”
“Really? I have had no letter from your aunt Hazel.” Papa shrugged. “Your mother will not wish to travel so far.”
Then, as if no more needed to be said about the matter, he shook his paper straight, hiding behind it once more.
“It is barely a two-day ride,” she countered. But her words were quietly spoken. She did not wish to be disagreeable; it would not serve her purpose.
“You know it’s not the distance, Sophia,” Papa said from behind the newspaper, as if aware of her inner protest. “Your mother expects to be treated poorly now that her brother has been sent to the penal colony in Australia. She has no faith in the kindness of others.”
“No one has said a word, Papa. They wouldn’t dare. And really, one cannot help the follies of one’s family. She is not to blame for Uncle Gilbert’s behavior.”
“I quite agree. Still, there is no convincing her.”
“But, Papa, Daphne is all but begging me to visit. She sounds plaintive, and Daphne never sounds plaintive.” Melodramatic, yes, plaintive, no.
“Does she? That’s unfortunate. Well, I will speak to your mother … but, Sophia, don’t get your hopes up.”
“I won’t,” Sophia said, getting her hopes up. “We need not all go. I could travel to Allenton Park on my own—with Betty,” she added. “In a hired coach.”
Papa shook his head, his expression sour. “I will not see you in a hired coach.”
Brushing her hands down her wrinkled gown, Sophia nodded, returning to the library. She shifted one of the settees closer to the window and dropped onto it once more, lifting the letter from Cousin Daphne. By the time she had read it a fourth time, Sophia knew that she had to find a way to get to West Ravenwood as soon as possible. She had to help her cousin!
* * *
Sophia stared at the small puddle on the white marble floor of the grand hall and frowned. Dropping to her knees, she looked closer. The liquid was not tinged yellow, therefore not a “contribution” from one of her mama’s two pugs.
For the better part of three days, Sophia had marched through the halls of Risely, begrudging every moment not spent speeding to Daphne’s rescue. With no sign from either of her parents about the possibility of a journey to West Ravenwood, her anxiety and concern for Daphne had soared.
Hearing approaching steps, Sophia jumped to her feet. Fortunately, it was not Mama who breezed into the hall but Betty, one of the housemaids.
Sophia huffed, impatient with passing time, herself, the maid, even the puddle on the floor. “Betty, there is liquid of a mysterious nature on the floor. Do you know what it is?” she asked, being blunt on the advice of a book she was reading, Investigating Murder and Mayhem: A Runner’s Journey. She puzzled a moment longer, thinking about the instructions in the book. “Or how it came to be here … there?” She pointed needlessly.
Betty barely glanced at the puddle. “Oh, never you mind. Just some drops of water from the vase when I moved it into the dining room. I’ll get it up in a jiffy.”
“Oh.” Sophia huffed again—still frustrated with the puddle. Not mysterious after all. Just a bit of water spilled from a vase. Really!
“I have something for you,” the maid said, flapping a paper in the air. “Your father collected the post again this morning.”
With a squeal, Sophia snatched the letter from Betty. She recognized the handwriting: Cousin Daphne. Perhaps all was well and resolved? Sophia needn’t commandeer a coach and rush to West Ravenwood, risking her reputation and parents’ wrath? She held the letter tightly, wishing to break the seal and read it right there and then, but decorum prevailed.
“Where is Mama, Betty?” Sophia asked, casually glancing toward the smaller corridor leading to the back of the house. When Betty waved in the general direction of the morning room, Sophia turned toward the library. Her fingers picked at the edge of the letter as she walked.
She had almost made it to her sanctuary when the hall was filled with the echoes of running feet. Pivoting, she watched Henry—her fifteen-year-old brother—land on the bottom step of the grand staircase. He sprinted across the entry and yanked the front door open before the footman could reach it.
“Henry, where are you—” she began, but her words sputtered to a stop. Henry had not so much as hesitated at the sound of her voice, racing across the threshold and ignoring her completely.
Through the door, Sophia could see his friend Walter Ellerby pulling under the portico. His curricle halted only long enough for Henry to jump in. The boys were off on another adventure; Sophia nodded for the footman to close the door.
* * *
Sophia sat seething with impatience, tasting little of the meal in front of her. She had tried to broach the subject of visiting Daphne just after the soup had arrived, and again when the eel was brought around.
Her cousin’s latest letter did not bring happy news. Instead, Sophia had been bombarded with escalating distress about the family’s imminent downfall. Daphne’s pleas for help bordered on desperation. She seemed convinced that Andrew’s death was merely the beginning of their trials and tribulations, that the entire family was in danger. Soon to be murdered in their beds was how she had put it. It was possible that Daphne’s fears were exaggerated, but Sophia would only know for sure once she got there and investigated with her own eyes.
As dinner progressed, it became more and more difficult to hold her tongue. Waiting for the exact right time to bring up the subject of Allenton Park was a challenge. First, the conversation centered on Henry’s latest adventure with Walter Ellerby, riding around Welford Mills. It lasted for several minutes—several tedious minutes. When the subject turned to a harvest fair that was coming to a neighboring village, Sophia’s patience disappeared entirely.
“Salisbury is about halfway to West Ravenwood,” she blurted.
She would commandeer the family coach—and the coachman, Mr. Bradley, to drive it—if she must. The Thompsons seldom used it anymore; Mama might not even notice it was gone.
Sophia was about to say as much when Papa interrupted her.
“I have had a letter,” he said, giving her a measured look before continuing. “From my sister. We are invited to Allenton Park for a month or two.”
“Oh my, that is a shame,” Mama said, signaling the footman for another serving of eel. “Offer my apologies.”
Sophia frowned, staring at the end of the table. Her mama, hidden behind the frills and flounces of her yellow dinner gown, waved her fork in the air as she spoke. It was a face similar to Sophia’s, especially when she frowned. They had the same wavy dark hair, wide mouth, and oval jawline, though Mama was corpulent and going gray.