Chapter 4 #2
The next several hours passed fairly quickly as Sophia and Rachael met a few of Lady Pilkington’s bosom friends.
Some were married to military officers, while others were visiting from home.
Many of the other Fleet women joined the group, and Sophia knew their names from time spent with them on the long voyage.
The women were a varied collection, ranging from pretty to plain, charming to gauche, quiet to loud.
In short, much like society anywhere. Many were delightful, and Sophia regretted for them the necessity of traveling across the world merely to secure a husband.
Surely something must have been amiss with the men in England who overlooked them.
And there were also a few girls who, like Sophia and Rachael, had wanted simply to get away, to see something beyond the borders of their own island.
When time came for an afternoon rest, Rachael asked Sophia if she would like to accompany her to the nursery.
Rachael had several nieces and nephews in England and held them in the highest of affection, and she missed them terribly.
Sophia felt a pang in her heart for her unmarried friend—Rachael wanted so much to have a family of her own, and as Sophia watched her interact with the guests’ children, she realized Rachael was as natural with the little ones as anybody she’d ever seen.
The little master of the house, Charles Pilkington, or Charlie, quickly became Sophia’s personal favorite.
He was six years old but slight of stature and possessed an irrepressible smile and a quick laugh.
He was charmingly articulate for one so young, and, unlike some of the other boys, he was comfortable sharing his toys and playing companionably with the other children.
There was a spark in his eye, something bent on perhaps a small amount of mischief, that spoke to Sophia’s spirit, and she sat near him and his ayah, Amala.
The nanny was nearing middle age and clearly enjoyed the delight of playing on the floor with a child.
Her hair was drawn back in a long, thick black braid with a few wisps of gray at her temples.
Her face was gentle; her smile easily given.
She wore a traditional Indian sari, made from a beautiful combination of orange, yellow, and purple silk.
Charles had called her “Amala Ayah” and the name stuck, and she laughed when Sophia said, “Amala Ayah, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The woman’s English was very good, and her affection for Charlie was evident.
Lady Pilkington, who had accompanied Sophia and Rachael to the nursery, espoused the virtues of having a retinue of Indian servants who were extremely devoted to the children.
So devoted, in fact, that they often were lax in disciplining their charges and created little terrors who tended to “run amok.”
Amala Ayah smiled, but remained silent.
“I also instruct the Indians to speak only their native tongue to Charles. I don’t want him adopting the chee-chee accent with which they speak English.”
Sophia glanced at Amala Ayah, whose expression hadn’t changed.
Lady Pilkington’s attitude evoked a familiar emotion in Sophia—frustration.
Here was another lady of the house making comments about her servants as though they were not present or were void of feeling or the finer emotions that made one a human.
One of the other toddlers playing in the nursery, Ruth, suddenly stumbled and fell, resulting in a bloody nose and much wailing. Lady Pilkington vacated the nursery immediately, murmuring something about checking on dinner preparations.
Charlie’s attention riveted on the little girl with the bloodied nose, and his face paled.
Amala Ayah put an arm about his shoulders and pulled him close, whispering in his ear, followed by a gentle smile and a tap on the nose.
She looked at Sophia and said, “Master Charlie does not so much like to see blood.”
“Ah.” Sophia smiled at him. “I do not care for the sight either, Charlie. I noticed earlier this wooden toy horse you were playing with. Will you tell me his name?” She ran her finger along the smooth edges of the horse’s back.
“He’s a very handsome horse, to be sure.
If he were mine, I should name him Lightning because I’m certain he is very fast.”
Amala Ayah caught her eye and missed only a beat before nodding. “Yes, indeed. He is very fast. And while Lightning is an excellent name, this horse already has a different one. Charlie, will you tell Miss Elliot the name of your horse?”
Sophia looked at Charlie and then at the toy as though she did not mean to pressure the child to speak. When she glanced up again, Charlie met her eyes and nodded.
“His name is Chestnut,” Charlie said, and Sophia shifted closer to him with the toy, effectively blocking his view of Ruth.
“My father had a horse named Chestnut when he was a boy, and he gave this toy to me for my second birthday.” Charlie scrunched his nose.
“I do not remember, of course, because I was quite young.”
“I think this is the finest toy horse I have ever seen.” Sophia extended the toy to him.
“Thank you so much for allowing me to hold him.” She smiled gently as Charlie took it from her and cradled it close to his chest. The color slowly returned to his face, and the red splashes standing out in stark relief to the white pallor of his cheeks gradually faded into a healthy pink.
Charlie’s eyes regained some of the spark and he grinned at Sophia. “Captain Miller has come to visit again, and he promises not only new stories but a toy for each of us. I hope it is a wooden cutlass. When last he visited, he said he would bring a wooden cutlass.”
Amala Ayah retrieved a wet cloth that she used to gently sponge Charlie’s brow. She murmured to him, the sound comforting and the bangles on her arm tinkling together quietly. Once Charlie was settled, she sent him back to play with the others.
“Is this a common occurrence?” Sophia asked Amala Ayah quietly.
“No, my lady.” The nanny shook her head. “He simply cannot abide the sight of blood. Inherits it from his father, I understand.”
“Well, there is certainly no shame in it.” Sophia smiled again at the sight of Charlie playing with Chestnut.
Her lady’s maid, Briggs, appeared at the door to summon her to prepare for an early dinner to precede the costume ball.
“Charlie, I should love to visit you again and see Chestnut. Would that be acceptable to you?”
The boy smiled, a small dusting of freckles stretching across his cheeks as his face brightened. “I would welcome the visit, my lady. Perhaps by then I shall have lost this tooth.” He wiggled his front tooth, which was indeed loose.
Sophia ruffled his hair, her heart most effectively melted, and motioned to Rachael, who reluctantly bid a pair of young twin girls good-bye with promises to return.
As Rachael left the room with Sophia, her eyes were bright and liquid.
“Alice and Annie are of an exact age with my sister’s children,” she said.
“Thank you for indulging me with the visit, Sophia. I know it is not at all the thing one does, but children are sweet, and I do adore them.”
“My pleasure, truly. I confess I find myself entirely charmed by young Master Charles. What an adorable child. I know little about children, other than the bits I have observed. My own niece, Catherine, is still quite small. I suspect I shan’t recognize her when I return home.”
Sophia and Rachael parted ways outside the nursery, and Sophia returned to her room to change and freshen up for the early dinner.
But rather than anticipating the costume ball, she felt like a schoolgirl eager for a glimpse of a handsome lord.
Even in his absence, Anthony proved himself irritating.
She made her way to the drawing room, where she waited with the other ladies until, after what seemed an eternity, Lady Pilkington announced that the time to dine had arrived.
As she descended the stairs to the main floor, Sophia saw Anthony chatting with Major Stuart and Lord Pilkington.
She imagined he must have felt her gaze, because he looked up and immediately found her in the group.
He swallowed noticeably before managing a nod to her.
Then his eyes moved past her and he smiled at the other ladies behind Sophia.
How awkward it was—knowing she held him in higher esteem than he did her.
She smiled, determined to reestablish their relationship according to the boundaries he had set.
They would be friends, lighthearted and fun, and if he blurred the line by standing a bit too closely or allowing his hand to linger on her back when the waltz was finished, she would admonish him that such was not appropriate for friends.
Because in truth, it hurt too much, and if he didn’t intend for a deeper level of association, she wasn’t about to allow it.
She didn’t think her heart could manage the strain.
They entered the dining room in pairs by rank, matched with their social equals.
Lady Pilkington had made matters perfectly clear from the moment Anthony arrived that formalities and rank were as strictly observed in her household in Bombay as they would be in London.
Though Lady Pilkington consulted her copy of Warrant of Precedence religiously, as did any self-respecting British woman of important rank and status in India, she told him as an aside, she did, on occasion, mix the arrangements according to her own whim once they were actually in the dining room.
It would never do to have her guests complain of dull dinner company, and as she knew quite well nearly each guest attending, she was adept at orchestrating the mix of people to the benefit of all.