Chapter 21
Sophia did not sleep easy. In fact, she barely closed her eyes at all. Like the proverbial sluggard, she turned back and forth like a hinged door on her bed. Only it was not laziness that afflicted her, but guilt.
Her sheets were damp and unpleasant because it was a warm, humid night. She threw her covers off and then pulled them back, unable to get more than a moment or two of rest.
A sleepless night, full of most painful cogitations, regrets, and even prayers, rendered Sophia haggard and ill in the morning. There were bruised circles under her eyes, and in her small looking-glass, her lips were almost bloodless.
She had been so relieved when she received a letter from Lady Marston two months ago.
Dear Mrs. Scott, it had read, clearly stating the terms on which they would relate to one another, I find myself in need of a companion on a Journey of some months.
I have heard that your late husband left you in Dire Straits, and I am willing to offer you employment.
It should be understood that you will drop all acquaintances of the past years if you join me, and in return I will not require references.
If our agreement is satisfactory, I will pay Twenty-Five pounds per Annum.
Wait on me at Grillon’s Hotel, Friday, April 21.
Sophia had done so, and that interview had shocked her, for what Lady Marston needed was not a companion at all.
She wanted an accomplice; a thief; a failsafe.
But she had promised Sophia a handsome sum from Sir Mark’s inheritance, as well as a reference to help her gain other genteel employment. She could leave her sordid life behind.
And in return, Sophia would find and destroy one problematic letter, as well as doing anything else Lady Marston or Sir Mark required. Sophia had never dreamed Lady Marston would go so far as to kill a noisy pet, or worse, to set up an innocent man for the hangman’s noose.
All night Sophia had wracked her brain for a solution in which both she and Mr. Belvedere went free, and she could not find one.
She was a good member of the Church of England—she was not one of those radical Methodists or mystic Quakers—but she prayed for a sign.
She knew she ought to confess, but she could not quite bring herself to do it—the fear, the shame, the rage of Lady Marston… !
She simply must have a sign, and if she did, she would come up to scratch.
Lisbon came in sight at midday, and all afternoon she and the other passengers—sans Mr. Belvedere—stayed on deck to watch their slow approach to the Port of Lisbon. Other frigates, schooners, sloops, and brigs were also to be seen in the bay.
Those leaving the port had a favorable wind, but the Lady Mary and the other ships entering it had to approach against that same wind.
Captain Smythe decided it must be anchor-hauling, and so he dispatched two men in the dinghy to carry the anchor on ahead of them.
When they dropped it, several men operated the large winch on deck, a giant wheel, which slowly drew the anchor toward them but also drew the ship toward the anchor.
The Port of Lisbon was in the mouth of the Tagus river, Captain Wentworth explained, and one of the prime stops for many before the Atlantic crossing.
Large, loud sea gulls and even several cormorants landed on the upper spars as they came in.
The noise of out-going ships, raucous birds, and distant shouts felt loud and unusual after even a few weeks at sea.
Anne and Caroline used parasols to protect themselves from the bright coastal sunshine.
Sophia could not enjoy it. When Lady Marston went down because she was “tired of the glare,” she drew Sophia with her quite firmly.
In the dining room, with Mr. Belvedere’s silent locked door a visible reproach, Lady Marston gave Sophia’s arm a little shake.
“Don’t even think about doing something stupid.
We are almost there. Now, can I trust you to pack your own things, or must I keep you with me like a naughty child? ”
Sophia’s traitorous eyes watered. “When I was a naughty child, Mrs. Burnett would usually give me a bun. She knew I didn’t break the rules unless I’d been taunted.”
“Who?”
“The head groom’s wife. Mrs. Burnett—at Marston Grange? The Burnetts were the family who boarded me.”
“Oh, them. Well, I daresay her indulgence is to blame for your weak character. What is it to be? Packing or surveillance?”
“I’ll pack.”
Late that afternoon, Sophia returned to the deck. The sun was now only a few inches above the horizon in the west, and the ship was anchored safely in the Port of Lisbon.
Caroline closed her parasol, for the sun was far behind them. Her husband gallantly took it and spun it idly against his shoulder.
The creamy white buildings of Lisbon, with their charming red-tile rooftops, were lit by the setting sun.
The ground rose away from the harbor, making uneven stairsteps of white and red, topped with green trees at the top of the first hill.
There must be more city beyond, but that first hill was the extent that could be seen from the ship.
Nearer at hand, sailors cast ropes to and from the wharf which ran parallel to the shore, and others set up a gangplank and secured it with sandbags.
Other ships were dispersed up the mouth of the river, and small rowboats and dinghies were heading in from the ships that were still anchored farther out in the harbor.
The wharf district was growing quiet as the evening hours set in and the laborers went home.
Sophia smelled the tavern food—something rich that might be fried liver, and the yeasty smell of baking bread.
“Makes a man eager, doesn’t it?” Colonel Fitzwilliam said to Captain Wentworth, eyeing the gangplank.
Wentworth smiled. “Speak for yourself, land-lubber. I feel I’ve barely been at sea a week.”
“Ugh, naval boasting, spare me.”
They watched as the first mate and three strong sailors left the ship with the violated mail bags.
“Last thing on, first thing off, and good riddance, I say,” Caroline put in. “I have had quite enough anxiety over those dreadful bags.”
“Agreed,” said Captain Wentworth. “And I think Smythe means to follow shortly with our—er—accused man. He wants to get him into town tonight. Ma’am”—he turned to Sophia gently—“perhaps you would be more comfortable in your cabin?”
“Yes. Oh—Oh, dear.” For it was too late.
Captain Smythe and several more of his seamen frogmarched Mr. Belvedere across the deck.
His hands were bound with a rope before him, but other than that, he looked presentable.
His eyes were perhaps a trifle shadowed and his cheeks a little pale, but his hair was neatly held back by a velvet ribbon, and he wore perfectly respectable morning wear: practical buckskins and a fawn jacket over a forest green waistcoat.
His cravat was tied in the Mathematical, his favorite, and his Hessians were polished, although not to the high gloss they’d had at the beginning of the voyage.
Mr. Belvedere’s mouth twitched when he saw her, a rueful look with a touch of reproach and resignation. Why didn’t he defend himself? He knew she lied. Maybe they wouldn’t believe him, but he could at least try to denounce her. She felt unreasonably angry that he had not.
Lady Marston and Sir Mark came up just after them, and Lady Marston gave Sophia a severe glare, as if to pin her in place until Mr. Belvedere was gone.
There were more sailors on deck than usual, and they stilled as the captain went by, a somewhat grim sign of respect for a walking dead man.
Captain Smythe nodded to Captain Wentworth. “You’ll accompany us, sir? I’d like to finish this business.”
“With alacrity,” he agreed.
“Er—not to be difficult,” said Mr. Belvedere, “but I don’t fancy walking that gangplank with my hands tied. It’s not to be a witch trial, I hope.”
“We won’t drown you,” Captain Smythe said, “tempting as it may be.”
“You may not have a choice if you don’t undo this. I’ve been in a cabin for—seven days? My head is none too good.” He did look pale.
Captain Wentworth inclined his head. “I think you can risk it, Captain Smythe.”
“Fine.” He undid the knot reluctantly.. “We’ll redo it in a moment, so don’t think to disappear, sir. I know Lisbon better than you.”
Donny was nearby, and he spat at Mr. Belvedere’s feet. He spoke on a half-sob. “That’s for—that’s for Gregory.”
Mr. Belvedere winced and opened his mouth to protest, but then he looked at Sophia and closed his mouth. That was the last straw.
“It was not him,” Sophia gasped out. “This is wrong—the mail, the necklace, the bird—it was not Mr. Belvedere.”
Lady Marston grabbed her wrist in a claw-like hand. “Don’t act any more of a ninnyhammer than these gentlemen already know you to be. Have some dignity.”
“Mr. Belvedere never asked me to search for a letter,” Sophia said. “It was me—it was us. Lady Marston and I—”
“You are hysterical,” Lady Marston snapped. “Compose yourself.”
“I think we had better hear her out.” Captain Wentworth put out a hand to caution her. “But if you are only feeling pity, Mrs. Scott, and have some idea of saving this man—don’t involve yourself.”
Mr. Belvedere himself weighed in, looking exasperated with Sophia. “He’s right. The damage is done! Don’t involve yourself now, that’s only throwing good money after bad.”
Sophia shook her head. “No, I can’t. This was wrong—I’m so sorry.”
Captain Smythe was frowning mightily. “You have caused quite enough trouble, young lady! If Lady Marston is willing to forgive you, you had best be content with that and not stir coals.”
“Let her speak,” Captain Wentworth objected. “She hardly seems hysterical.”
“I’m not,” said Sophia, although the height of her nervous tension might soon send her into hysteria.
She couldn’t look at Mr. Belvedere and instead spoke to Captain Smythe’s throat.
“I can’t let this go on. Lady Marston had a letter to destroy, and I was to help her find it.
It was I who woke Donny that first night, and it was I who panicked and left the bags untied.
I tried several other times, most notably during the storm when I knocked my head, and that final time, when Caroline and the colonel caught me.
It was never Mr. Belvedere, but when they gave me that excuse, I used it. It was always me.”
“Blimey,” said Sir Mark. “You’ve blown the gaff now.”