Chapter 17
Sophia was not alone when she awoke from her sick swoon only a few minutes later.
She lay on her shelf-bed in her own cabin.
The lamp that hung over her bed was lit, and Anne Wentworth leaned toward her, gently waving a vinaigrette under her nose.
She withdrew it at once. “Easy, be easy. Do not sit up at once or you may be ill.”
It was needless to tell her. Sophia felt distinctly nauseated, almost as sick as during the height of the storm. It was all she could do to keep her lips sealed and her stomach from revolting for several minutes. When the worst had passed, she gulped. “A drink, please?”
Anne helped her sip from a glass of half-and-half, which was a diluted spirit known to calm the stomach.
“I have never fainted before.” Sophia’s lips betrayed her by trembling. “I had not thought I was the sort.”
“It is probably the lingering weakness from several days of little food, combined with—such a shock. Lady Marston and Sir Mark were most concerned.”
Sophia didn’t answer right away. She was reliving the moment and remembering her own guilt. But was it guilt? Mr. Belvedere had all but admitted he was the forger in the advertisement when she confronted him alone. Hadn’t he? If he was punished for his crimes, that was not her fault…
But his eyes, which were usually laughing, had looked so hard and betrayed, it was quite terrible.
She had lied dreadfully, and she had been fully believed.
Perhaps he would’ve gone searching through the mail, but he had not asked her to do it.
She tried to convince herself that his own crimes had brought him to this, but she was not so artful as to excuse herself that way.
It did not matter what he might’ve done.
She couldn’t do this, could she? Sophia closed her mouth against another swelling of guilt and nausea.
“It’ll pass soon,” Anne said. “Try to breathe.”
“I deserve this. Oh, I am such a fool.”
“No, no.” Anne pressed a cool, wet cloth to her head. “You made a mistake, but it is not irrecoverable. We do not blame you, and my husband has been pointing out that you did not even touch the mail. He is certain he can convince the captain to leave you out of his report.”
Sophia’s mistakes went far deeper than that.
Although—self-defense reared its head again—could one call it a betrayal when he had all but forced his secrets on her? She did not want any sort of partnership with him, so surely betrayal was not the right word.
But ... this sophistry did not relieve her either. She had dodged a bullet by shoving a bystander in its path. She’d become every bit as low as the most skinflint reprobate of lower London.
Tears slipped down her cheeks unheeded, and Anne grew genuinely alarmed. “Has Mr. Belvedere further imposed on you? He has not asked you for anything else—”
“No, no,” Sophia said, trying to hold in her tears.
“Then, my dear…”
“It is only that—when my husband died last year—I thought I might recover. He was not a very good man. It’s terrible, but I felt like a prisoner whose irons are struck off. But no—” she laughed drearily—“the dog returns to its vomit.”
“I am sorry you suffered, but this is only a minor setback, not proof of anything worse. Sometimes flogging oneself is not humility, it is only an excess that has neither sense nor truth in it.” She pressed Sophia’s hand. “I’m speaking firmly, but I have confidence you can rise above this.”
“I think I squandered my chance to rise above some years ago. I wish I had met someone like you while I was in school.”
“I know how lonely and desperate it can be at that age. Is that when you met your late husband? You must have been very young.”
“I was—but it was my own fault. I ran away from school.” This was not the crime that she should confess, the one that was burning a hole in her soul even now and threatening to get an innocent man—or at least, a mostly innocent man—hanged.
But there was a relief in making a clean breast of anything to Mrs. Wentworth.
“I was angry and lonely there—you can guess why, if you have guessed my parentage at all.”
Anne nodded gently.
“I was always one of the Marston brats, and even more despised than my brothers because I was Lady Marston’s, not Sir Mark’s—” She broke off at the look on Anne’s face. “Oh, I’ve shocked you. I thought you guessed—never mind.”
“I am shocked, although Caroline did say—Forgive me. While I view breaking marriage vows as a grievous crime, none of that was your fault. Why don’t you tell me the rest? I think it will relieve your mind.”
“There is not much more to tell. I was sent to school, and I was miserable there, for such things become known. I ran away thinking—you will laugh—that I might make it on the stage.”
Anne did not laugh. Sophia could hardly stop herself now, caught in the strange momentum of confession.
“I ran away to London with my tiny savings, and you can imagine how quickly I fell into abject squalor. I—lived with Jem, which I knew was wrong, but I was still so desperate and so defiant. He was a thief, but still dashing—Oh, I was foolish and stupid, but he was not the worst of men. He did marry me when he might just as well have thrown me out.”
Anne made a small noise, whether of shock or commiseration, Sophia could not say.
“My life was probably what you think it ... but when he died, and Lady Marston contacted me, I thought perhaps I could forget it all. And Sir Mark has been very decent, really. I wasn’t well-acquainted with him until recently. ”
“I’m so sorry, Sophia. I wish that you’d had someone to look after you then.”
“I’ve really emptied the pitcher over you, haven’t I? And I don’t know why except that—you have a very kind face, did you know?” She wiped her eyes with the handkerchief Anne gave her. “You must be shocked beyond reason. I am no better than a light-skirt, a trollop—I’m fallen, wicked, ill-bred—”
Sophia pulled her hand from Anne’s, but Anne took it again. “I am not thinking any of those things. It sounds as if you have already been amply punished for any errors you made as a girl, and it is to your credit that you wanted to return to a life of honest work and respectability.”
But that’s just what Sophia had not quite done. Whether she would have told Anne the whole truth, trusting that somehow Anne would help, Sophia never found out. Lady Marston opened the door abruptly.
She stepped into the room and her eyes flashed over Sophia. “You’ve been very silly, haven’t you?”
“Don’t berate her now, ma’am,” Anne said. “She feels her error keenly, I promise you.”
“Hmph. She ought to, but whether she does—”
Anne rose. “I think it would be best if she slept for a while. Her nerves are overset.”
This was true, but Lady Marston was a bracing influence on Sophia. Her tears dried up on their own and her trembling grew still. “I’m fine now.”
“I shall let her sleep,” Lady Marston said, “but I need to have a word first. Please give us a moment.”
“I will go away, of course, but come with me, ma’am. She may really make herself ill if she continues in this state.”
“Mrs. Wentworth, do you make me insist?”
“I’m sure the ship’s surgeon would agree, I’ll send someone to fetch him—”
“You can go,” Sophia said to Anne. “I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly capable again. I will speak with Lady Marston and then rest, as you said.”
“If you’re sure…” Anne was still reluctant, and Sophia regretted pouring out her sad story. Pity was nice for a moment, but mostly it caused problems. Sophia reiterated that she was well enough now, and Anne went away.
Lady Marston latched the door and sank onto the edge of the bed. She kept her voice low. “If that was a ploy, it was stupid.”
“It was not, ma’am. I was genuinely—overcome.”
“Ugh. This generation is so sensitive. Next you’ll be quacking yourself. You didn’t retrieve the letter yet?”
“No, Caroline and her husband were there—you heard.”
“I thought perhaps they were mistaken. The hold is dark and crowded—”
“They were right in front of the door. There was no chance.”
Lady Marston sighed through her teeth in frustration. “We have less than a week until Lisbon! Must I do this myself?”
“If you think you can, please do.”
“Sir Mark and I offered you part of his inheritance if you would do this one thing…”
“Only the most dangerous and criminal part of your scheme. Did you know that you can be hanged for tampering with the mail?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“What could possibly be so important? I’ve wracked my brain, but I cannot think of anything that would prevent Sir Mark from taking the inheritance. I can think of nothing that would be worth all this. And Donny’s parrot—was that you?”
“It would wake the boy any time you went to the hold. It was necessary.”
“How dared you? That was cruel—it was wrong.”
“Don’t think to judge me—a Haymarket slut like yourself.”
Sophia’s cheeks kindled, but she didn’t rise to the insult. There was no love lost between Sophia and her mother.
Lady Marston continued, quietly, “I’ll allow that was quick thinking to use Mr. Belvedere. The captain will relax with him caught. You’ll have a chance.”
“That wasn’t right—I shouldn’t have done it.”
“Nonsense. They were ready to believe it; you only confirmed their suspicions.”
“But he might be hanged—”
“That is his own business. Stick to yours.”
“Are you going to ‘find’ the necklace among his things now?” Sophia asked. “I know you took it yourself, but you mustn’t do that. The necklace would damn Mr. Belvedere even further.”
“Perhaps. It would tie everything up neatly for the captain. I only hid the necklace to distract from the mail.”
“Where was it all this time?” Sophia asked wearily. Lady Marston’s rather flat bosom—the time-honored place for ladies to conceal something—didn’t seem likely. “Did you make Sir Mark hold it?”
“Ugh, don’t speak to me of Sir Mark. It is bad enough I have to share quarters with him—and a bed! He snorts and smokes and complains night and day. You would think he is a child rather than a man of sixty—but he was always so.”
“But the necklace?”
Lady Marston shrugged. “At least he has capacious pockets. Do not worry about that. With everything wrapped up, surely you will find an opportunity. No more mistakes. You were very careless that first time or we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“I know.” Lady Marston had not hesitated to vent her spleen at Sophia’s first botched attempt.
Sophia had gone to the hold and gotten the mail bags open.
How her fingernails had ached from picking the knots of the waxy ropes!
She had begun to sort through, looking for the letter from Sir Mark’s solicitor, when she’d heard the parrot and a great clatter from the seamen’s portion of the lower deck.
She hadn’t been familiar with the hold yet—not as familiar as she now was—and she hadn’t realized how sound traveled oddly with the low ceilings and thin walls.
She probably could have finished her task that very night, but she panicked when the boy got up and fumbled around.
She had left the bags open. Lady Marston could not be more frustrated than Sophia had been with herself.
“It’s not as easy as it seems,” Sophia added. “There are always interruptions. I even tried during the storm when I felt like death.”
“Perhaps you should ponder the ease of living penniless and alone in Lisbon. You can’t imagine I’ll support you if you fail.”
“I don’t imagine that, never fear.”
Lady Marston rose. “Then rest, if you can.”