Sophie's Halloo (16 page)

He walked in with an eagerness in his step that was checked as soon as he saw the parlour’s only inhabitant. He had been thinking about the light that now brightened Sophie’s eyes whenever he entered the room and how the pleasure of that sight was soon to be his.

Sir John’s scowl was not the welcome look Tony had hoped to find, but he adjusted his thoughts quickly and approached with his usual cordial manner, doing his best to ignore the scowl. Faced with Tony’s pleasant smile, Sir John could do nothing but greet him, though he invested that greeting with as little warmth as possible.

“Farnham,” he mumbled shortly, ‘“servant.” He did not rise, hoping to discourage the caller from staying. In truth, Sir John, although wishing to forbid Tony the house, could not deliver such an edict to a fellow gentleman without a greater provocation than he had been given. He had trusted that his own outburst would be sufficient to alarm Lady Corby into doing his will for him. Such had always been his way. Now, with Tony looking in an amused fashion at the unwelcome scowl on his face. Sir John felt the weakness of his position and the impossibility of enforcing it without embarrassment to himself.

They sat for a moment in uneasy silence. Sir John still hoped to discourage Tony with his inhospitable manners, and Tony, although amused by Sir John’s bad temper, found it a definite barrier to conversation. Finally, he enquired after the ladies and expressed the hope that they were not too fatigued after the outing of the prior day.

“Not at all,” was Sir John’s curt reply. The resentment in his growl conveyed a certain understanding to Tony, and his lips twitched irrepressibly. Correctly assessing Sir John’s opinion of the outing, he judged it best not to press the subject. Unfortunately the alternative topic which suggested itself to him proved to be a grave error.

“And how is your friend, Mr. Rollo?” beamed Tony. Since yesterday he had begun to discount that gentleman’s threat to his own happiness and this confidence was a stimulant to his impudence.

“Fine,” said Sir John, still unwilling to be drawn into conversation. But as he reflected upon Mr. Rollo, silently observing his superiority to present company, a marvellous thought occurred to him. As a solution it was perfect, for with it he would accomplish two objects: he would remove Sir Tony from his daughter’s attention and he would secure a place nearest to her for the admirable Rollo. A smile replaced his alarming glare. His countenance was soon transformed, and Tony raised an eyebrow in contemplation of the rapid change.

Within moments, Sir John was regarding Tony with a benevolent and sympathetic eye. The simplicity of the solution had cheered him so that the words “poor boy” were actually in his thoughts. Unfortunately, this gave his next words to Tony a truthful ring, which they might not have otherwise had.

“It is fortunate that you should mention Mr. Rollo while we find ourselves alone here together, Farnham, for there is something about him which I ought to mention.”

“Oh?” enquired Tony politely, despite the fact that Sir John’s words had caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise inexplicably.

“Yes,” said Sir John, settling back in his chair comfortably. There was no suggestion of guilt in his tone and, indeed, he felt none. What he was about to say would certainly be the true case in a matter of weeks, if not days.

“You may be aware that Mr. Rollo has been spending a great deal of time with us lately, Sir Tony,” he said, developing his topic enjoyably.

“Yes, sir,” agreed Tony, then added significantly, “as have I.”

Sir John glanced over at him with a slight look of displeasure, but recalled himself in time to take advantage of Tony’s reply.

“Precisely,” he stated. “It is about that that I wish to speak to you.” Sir John leaned forward in his chair with an air of confidentiality. Tony leaned to meet him, but his smile had lost its warmth.

“You have been kind to us all, Sir Tony,” continued Sophie’s father. “Most kind. And we are all in your debt. For that reason, I judge it best to let you in on a little secret.” Tony remained silent. “Our daughter Sophia has formed a favourable impression of my friend Mr. Rollo, and he of her. It is not to be wondered at, of course. The boy has much in common with the family, after all. At any rate, they have come to an understanding. I do not suppose I need explain.”

Tony had straightened in his chair. His expression held none of the amusement that Sir John had habitually found in it. Instead, his eyes bored directly into Sir John’s own, searching for some relief there and finding none. “You need not explain,” he agreed.

“Good,” said Sir John. “Now, as you said, your visits here have been frequent, and I am concerned that there may have been some talk as a result. And although we have not made an announcement yet, I am certain that neither you nor Sophia would wish for that to be the case. So I am suggesting, only suggesting, mind, that your calls be curtailed for the present. I hope I need not add that your absence will be felt by us all, but regard it only as a temporary condition. Once Sophia has established herself comfortably, well, then, naturally Lady Corby and I shall be happy to see you at any time in Leicestershire.”

He finished his speech with a convincing warmth, knowing that the likelihood of Tony’s traveling so far on such a thankless errand would be improbable.

Tony stared at Sophie’s father a moment longer. He was aware that Sir John had derived an enormous pleasure from making his announcement, but he could not doubt its truth all the same. Surely, Sir John would not invent such a story. And suddenly he thought he understood the meaning of Sophie’s silence when he had asked her about marriage. Had she been going to kiss him? He would never know. Perhaps he had only imagined the dreamy submission he thought he had seen in her eyes.

Aware of Sir John’s watchful gaze upon him, Tony rose to his feet. The lightness was gone from his movements, but he managed to bow with a tolerable grace.

Not willing to discuss the matter with one whom he knew to be the engineer of his disappointment, however, he merely said, “You will be kind enough, I hope, to give Miss Corby my sincere wishes for her future happiness. And to you,  my congratulations,  Sir John.” It was handsomely said, but not without special meaning. Sir John, however, felt only the truth of it. “Your servant,” said Tony as he quitted the room and the house, never expecting to return.

Sir John chuckled joyfully over his success and took the liberty of enjoying a cheroot in the parlour while he finished his paper. By the time Sophie and her mother returned, he had left again for his club.

Lady Corby wondered, as they strolled in, if she did not detect a smell of smoke in the parlour, but Sophie was oblivious to it. She had immediately gone to the tray in the corridor to see if any cards had been left and had been puzzled, but a bit relieved, not to find any. Thinking only that Tony had not yet found the time to come around, she could only be grateful that she had not missed his call.

But the day passed, and there was still no sign of him. On the next day, Sophie pleaded a headache and listened painfully for a rap upon the door, but the only callers that day were two elderly ladies who had been friends of her grandmother.

By the third day, Sophie was in a panic, certain that something horrible had happened to Tony and that no one had known to send her word. She fought the urge to ask her mother to write a note to Lady Farnham, not wanting to risk incurring Sir John’s displeasure again by doing so.

Finally, as the week ended, Sophie came to the conclusion that her father had managed to waylay Tony outside his club and to deliver his edict. But she dared not ask him. His uncertain temper was always a deterrent to confrontation, and she knew that she would not be served by questioning him. She could only wait until the following Wednesday when she would surely see Tony at the assembly at Almack’s, and she doubted that her father had gone so far as to forbid Tony to address her.

But on Wednesday she suffered a greater blow, for not only did she not have the chance to speak to Tony, she could not see that he was even present. She looked about the room throughout the evening, but never saw him, and she was reasonably certain that her eyes would have been drawn to him instinctively had he been there.

Her partners could not help but notice that her interest was engaged elsewhere, and she was so lacking in spirits, in spite of her efforts to hide it, that none of them requested a second dance. For the first time since her appearance at the assembly room, she was obliged to sit out two of the dances. And that insult, added to her misery, only served to make her feel worse.

It was with a feeling of hopeless resignation that Sophie endured the next two weeks. Sir John saw to it that Mr. Rollo was a frequent guest to dinner. But learning from the lessons Tony had given her, Sophie was able to deflect his attention from herself at will by asking him about one of the hunts. Then she needed only to sit back and watch as Sir John and Mr. Rollo pursued the subject. Yet her father’s ambitions on her behalf came closer and closer to being realized.

Rollo himself had not been reciprocal in the number of invitations he had made them. Aside from a few more rides in the park, to which Sophie only consented from the hopes of seeing Tony, and the “shilling well spent” at the Royal Academy, he had been most frugal in is entertaining of the Corbys. A man less inclined to favour him than Sir John might have been a bit suspicious of this lack of hospitality, but Sophie’s father chose not to regard it, having in his own mind the urgent necessity of returning to Leicestershire in early June. To his way of thinking, all was going swimmingly, although he trusted Mr. Rollo would not disappoint him by ignoring the hunting calendar in choosing when to make his proposal.

At the end of the two weeks, however, Mr. Rollo was feeling the need to make a more costly bid for Miss Corby’s hand and Sir John’s heart. He made a trip to the city, and managed upon the credit of his failing aunt, to borrow enough to fund a dinner party and a night at Drury Lane. Sir John, not knowing, of course, that his advice had been thus firmly ignored, accepted the invitation for them all with the assurance of a transaction being nearly complete.

They were treated to an excellent dinner at the White Hart by a jovial host. Mr. Rollo, confident for once of having a fat purse for the evening, did not refuse to enjoy the claret himself. After dinner, they made their way to Drury Lane in Mr. Rollo’s own coach, and the two gentlemen conversed pleasurably about the team of horses.

Sophie was silent, her mother noticed, as she had been of late. There was no longer any colour about her cheeks, and her eyes had lost the sparkle of youth which had gleamed brighter than ever since their coming to London. Nor had Lady Corby failed to notice that Sir Tony was suddenly absent from all their doings, and she would have felt the absence on her own account had she not felt it so strongly on her daughter’s.

The first play to be performed that evening was Shakespeare’s
Othello
, and in different circumstances Sophie would have been beside herself with expected pleasure. But tonight, as she watched Edmund Kean upon the stage, as thrilled as she was by his fine performance, she could only think of the time she had met him as being the last day she had seen Tony. The play threatened to move her beyond what was normal, and she had to strive to maintain her sense of detachment.

At its end, however, she stood with the rest of the roaring crowd to applaud a flawless performance, wishing only that Mr. Kean could somehow meet her eye and convey to her with a look his knowledge of Tony’s whereabouts.

The next play was to be a farce, but there was time in between for the audience to mix and to drift back and forth between the boxes. Again Sophie’s father spared her from speaking to Mr. Rollo beyond thanking him for the rare treat, for he was as eager as ever to talk over old hunting days. Looking about the theatre, lost in thought and only half seeing the people around her, as had been her habit before meeting Tony, she suddenly came alert as she spied a well-loved figure across the balcony.

Tony had just entered one of the boxes and was now speaking to a lovely woman who was dressed in the height of fashion,
très décolleté
, her bosom decked with jewels. Sophie felt the anger rise within her as she remembered her fears for his safety and whereabouts, realizing that they had been nothing more than a substitution for the betrayal she should have felt.

For Tony was perfectly well. Although she was observing him from a distance, she could see enough to know that the lady was flirting with him outrageously and that Tony’s manner was not discouraging. Sophie watched as the lady, clearly not an ingénue rapped him playfully with her fan, and she seethed as Tony leaned a bit closer to whisper in her ear. But she was not able to take her eyes off the scene, though every minute added to her torture.

The curtain went up for the farce to commence, and only then did Tony relinquish his seat by the pretty lady to the gentleman who had accompanied her. When he did, Sophie looked away quickly to avoid meeting his eyes should he chance to see her, not wanting him to know how badly she had been hurt. But presently, not able to stem her curiosity, she stole another glance. She fancied that he had been standing and staring fixedly at her, but as quickly as she had turned, so had he, and the last she saw of him was his back as he strode out of the box.

The result of this episode was that Sophie did not hear a word of the play that followed. Her heart was beating so strangely and so uncomfortably, that her mind could only race in errant circles. Earnestly did she hope that she would not encounter Sir Tony in the corridor as they left their box, and yet her eyes did not stop searching for him among the audience, despite the darkness of the theatre. Her heart was breaking, and the proof of it was the hurt that would not leave her chest.

The evening could not end too quickly for Sophie. Afterwards, she marvelled how she had found the strength to make her way outside the theatre, endure the long wait for their carriage and thank Mr. Rollo properly as he took them to their door. The ache within her seemed to affect her breathing strangely, yet she experienced it all as if in a dream and outwardly showed no sign of failing. It was not until she reached the comfort of her room later that she gave way to her emotions.