She didn’t have the heart to refuse him. Apart from her uncle, who was ensconced in his study as usual, the house was empty, John and Matthew being at work, and no doubt David was as bored as she was.
She waited while he threw on his hat and coat and then they set off, walking north away from the village towards Carley Hill Farm and the quarries and more open countryside. The air was bitterly cold but wonderfully fresh and clean, and although the snow was deep in places it had been trodden down over the last ten days or so to provide a narrow walkway in most places, with great drifts piled up either side of the paths. The going got harder after they passed the old quarries, but they were young and energetic, and once David had got over his initial shyness at having the girl he dreamed about every night all to himself, they chatted and laughed together, much as Sophy and Matthew had done the night she had come home.
They walked as far as Boldon, a mining town some three or four miles north of Southwick, following the old dry-stone-walled lanes until they came to the growing township and West Boldon Mill. This had been seriously damaged by fire three years previously: a storm had caused the sails of the mill to rotate so fast that when the brakes were applied, such heat was generated that a fire broke out and all but the stone tower was destroyed.
‘We’d better start back.’ They had stood staring at the remains of the mill for some moments, catching their breath, and it dawned on Sophy that they would be hard-pressed to be back before her aunt and Patience finished their round of calls. Not that she and David were doing anything wrong in taking a walk together, but she knew instinctively that her aunt wouldn’t like it. Her aunt had been even more cold and abrupt than usual over Christmas and had given her a hundred and one jobs to keep her from spending time with the family. The trouble was, Mrs Hogarth resented anyone but Molly in ‘her’ kitchen, and when Sophy was told to do the mountain of ironing that accumulated day by day in the scullery washing baskets, or to help prepare meals or clean the range, the cook viewed this as gross interference, reflected in her attitude to Sophy.
Sophy sighed deeply. She needed to get away from Southwick, but although her education had been a good one for a girl, it had merely prepared her for running a comfortable and peaceful home for her future husband, the destiny of any well-brought-up young lady. And the thing was, more and more of late she knew she didn’t want to tread the path expected of her. She didn’t want to get married, well, not for years and years anyway, and she certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of her days occupied like her aunt and so many of her aunt’s friends, making a round of calls every morning and sitting embroidering useless items every afternoon. And once children came along, a woman’s life became even more limited and restricted.
She had played with the idea of giving elocution lessons, or maybe teaching ballet or the rudiments of music, but that didn’t appeal either. She would still be forced to live at the vicarage for one thing until she could build a name for herself and maybe afford to take rooms somewhere, and she couldn’t see her aunt allowing any part of her home to be used for such vulgar purposes. But besides the mechanics of the idea, she didn’t actually want to teach. She wanted to give free rein to the feeling which always rose in her breast when she was dancing or singing or acting, for it was only then she truly felt herself. But she hadn’t dared mention this to a soul. Even Charlotte, sweet as she was, would have been horrified at the notion, and regarded her as mad. And perhaps she was. No one else she knew was like her and she didn’t understand where this urge to perform had come from.
‘What’s the matter?’ David had heard the sigh and as they began to retrace their steps towards home, he glanced at Sophy. She was wearing the grey serge coat which was part of the uniform for the school she had attended. Patience had at least two other coats, but Sophy was limited to the one. Her fur bonnet had been a present from John for Christmas though, and it was lined and trimmed in a dark gold satin. This framed her lovely face perfectly and brought out the burned honey of her eyes in a way that made him catch his breath now.
Unaware of his rapt gaze and her eyes on the road ahead, Sophy said quietly, ‘I was just thinking, that’s all.’
‘What about?’
‘All sorts of things,’ she prevaricated.
‘Has Mother upset you again?’
His voice had hardened in the same way John’s and Matthew’s did when they spoke of Mary, and Sophy said quickly, ‘No, no she hasn’t. It’s just . . .’ She fiddled with her gloves for a few moments as they walked. ‘I’ve finished school now and I’m not sure what’s going to happen.’