A hard look came over Patience’s face. ‘My mother will have no say one way or the other, but I doubt she will attend. She has already taken offence because we are not holding the christening at Father’s church, but William wanted it at the one we go to.’
Sophy’s gaze returned to the baby in her arms as Peter gave a little gurgle. He’d won her heart for ever with that first gummy smile. ‘I’d love to be his godmother.’
‘Good. That’s settled. Now bring him downstairs, as I think Tilly’s prepared tea and cakes in the drawing room. We can catch up on all the news. Oh, Sophy’ – Patience beamed at her – ‘we’re going to have such a lovely time.’
Sophy did have a lovely time. For the first few days she enjoyed herself helping Patience with the baby, bathing him and putting him to bed. At the weekend, John and Matthew and their wives came to dinner, and both of them invited her back to their respective homes the following week. On the last day before she was due to return to London – a Sunday – Peter’s christening was held at the parish church in Bishopwearmouth which Patience and William attended. A family get-together took place afterwards; this included Jeremiah, who had missed the christening, having his own church service to see to.
Sophy was shocked at how old and frail her uncle looked when she saw him. He was approaching seventy, but could easily have been mistaken for a man of eighty years or more. She had been secretly dreading meeting him again, but he simply kissed her cheek and politely asked after her health before retreating to a comfy chair in one of the alcoves bordering the large drawing-room windows. There he sat, surveying the assembled company through the steel pince-nez perched on the end of his nose and saying little to anyone.
It was later in the day after the buffet tea Tilly and Sadie had prepared that Jeremiah approached Sophy. John’s twin boys were asleep on her lap, and sitting down beside her on the sofa he said, ‘You’ve a way with children. Those two are little imps usually.’
Sophy’s heart was thudding and her mouth dry, but her voice was remarkably steady when she said, ‘They’re high-spirited, that’s all, and very bright, but then their father and uncles are above average intelligence so I suppose it’s to be expected.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ He didn’t look at her as he said, ‘You have no children, I understand? I’m sorry about that. They would have been a comfort to you after the death of your husband.’
Sophy had agreed with Patience and William at the time of Toby’s death that they would merely tell the family her husband had met with an unfortunate accident and leave it at that. Now her voice didn’t falter: ‘I would have liked children, of course, but my husband’s death was not the blow it would have been if we had been happily married. We were separated at the time of his accident.’
She had evidently surprised him as his quick glance at her showed. ‘Again, I’m sorry.’
Sophy shrugged. ‘In hindsight I made bad choices. The evidence of what he was really like was always there but I ignored it to my cost.’
‘Ah, hindsight. I know all about hindsight.’ He sighed deeply. ‘And bad choices. My life is littered with them. I thought I knew it all when I was a young man, what I wanted to achieve in my life and how to achieve it. Looking back, it was all dross of course – worldly acclaim and so on. This’ – he waved his hand at his children and grandchildren – ‘is what is important, and it is only by the grace of God I can have a measure of it now. The mysteries of human nature are manifold, and considering our Creator knows exactly what we are like, I find it more amazing as I get closer to meeting Him that He bothers with us at all.’
Now it was Sophy’s turn to be surprised. Her uncle had changed and she hadn’t expected that.
‘I am glad I have seen you again before He calls me home.’ For the first time that evening Jeremiah looked her full in the face. ‘I want you to know that your mother – my sister – wasn’t a bad woman at heart. I thought so once, but as I have reflected on it, I realise our parents unwittingly instigated much of her rebellion. I was an easy child to handle – put up the line of least resistance, you know? But Esther was spirited from a baby. My parents were frightened by this, they didn’t understand her and so, thinking they were doing the best for their daughter, they imposed so many restrictions that I believe she felt like a caged animal. When she escaped the cage . . .’ He sighed again. ‘She was a beautiful young girl but innocent when she left the vicarage, ill-prepared for the outside world.’
It was the first time she had been able to talk about her mother. Painfully, she swallowed. ‘She . . . she had lovers.’
‘Yes, my dear, she did. And I cannot condone that. But let us face facts here. There are women, supposedly happily married, respectable women with a place in society who make a habit of illict relationships. I’m sure you know of one or two. I certainly do. Perhaps your mother was more honest than such as they and this was her downfall.’