“Well, she won’t see any more of you today. She’s completely done up.”
“I would like to make myself useful. Perhaps there is some preparation I could obtain from the apothecary for Sophie. Or go for the doctor if that becomes necessary.”
“How the devil did you find her this morning?” Buck asked. “Where was she?”
“She was coming back from Lila’s. She had gone there to check the truthfulness of Shrewsbury’s story. As you might expect, Lila lied, leaving poor Sophie to believe that she was still my mistress. I was on my way here when she literally ran into me.”
“Well,” Buck said, “that was a fortunate encounter, since you were carrying an umbrella. Last year, Sophie fell victim to a severe case of inflammation of the lungs. She nearly died. But Fanny’s nursing pulled her around. Let us hope she does not become ill again. Perhaps there is a posset or some such thing that the apothecary can make up. I will go to Fanny and ask her.”
Frank waited impatiently for Buck’s return. How sick was Sophie? Was there actually a possibility that she could die? As he paced the room, he tried to contemplate the depth of the hole he had made in Sophie’s trust. How to restore that trust?
Time. Time and patience. I’ve told her the truth. She must decide for herself whether to believe it. But I may not have time, and I’m horribly impatient. I want her to believe in us the way she did.
Buck reentered the library. “You get the makings for a mustard plaster for her chest from the apothecary. Also some fever powders. Fanny is trying to stop her trembling, which is quite severe. We don’t know yet how ill she is likely to be. I must admit, it is very tempting for me to mill you down at this moment, so you had better make haste out of my presence.”
Frank met the Carstairs in the front hall, speaking to the butler.
“Joseph, Bella, I am so sorry to tell you that Sophie is abed. She was out in the rain without her umbrella, and Fanny fears she may become ill. So no rehearsal today.”
Bella asked, “Do you think I could see her?”
“It is not up to me. I am just off to the apothecary. Perhaps Perkins can find out for you.”
Grabbing his umbrella, Frank was out the door. He walked quickly and was glad to see the rain easing. He only wished that there was some way he could sneak up to Sophie. But, he reflected, that was a selfish wish. Seeing him just might make her more ill, and she was in no condition to listen to his cajoleries.
When he had delivered the requested items to Perkins, he decided he was useless in the Deal mansion and determined to call on Lila to demand that she write to Sophie the truth.
{ 19 }
WHEN SOPHIE FINALLY STOPPED TREMBLING, she slept. Fanny had placed hot bricks at her feet, covered her head with a stocking cap, put a mustard plaster on her chest, and given her a headache powder.
When she woke, night had fallen. Her throat burned like fire, and her headache was fierce. Fanny’s maid, Betsy, was sitting with her.
“Would you care for some dinner, miss?” she asked. “I am to tell my lady as soon as you are awake.”
Sophie decided that however bad she felt, she must take nourishment. “Some soup and a bit of toast, perhaps.”
While Betsy went to fetch Fanny and relay her dinner request to the kitchens, Sophie eased herself out of bed. Her knee was much less painful, thanks to the hot bricks. Taking a key out of its hiding place in the Wedgewood egg on her nightstand, she walked to her vanity and unlocked her jewel case. There sat Frank’s letter. Looking at it for a few moments, she took it out cautiously as though it might bite, and then got back into bed. After staring at it some more, she remembered the events of the morning and Frank’s version of the Lady Manwaring incident. Perhaps whatever he said in his missive would help her to decide whether or not to believe him.
She opened the envelope and drew out the heavy pages with the Trowbridge crest emblazoned on the letterhead.
My dearest,
I do not know what it was that Shrewsbury told you to give you such a disgust of me, but he knows me well, and undoubtedly does not find me worthy of you.
Upon reflection, I must say that I think he is right. I am a careless fribble. I have been greatly blessed with means, health, and position, and I have done nothing with my good fortune, except to try to be an enlightened landlord.
I fully mean, from this day forth, to turn my life around. Whether you ever forgive me or not, your influence has been great enough to cause this change in me. You are in every way my angel, and will remain so, come what may.