The Regency (48 page)

Sophie adored him, too, and would not allow anyone to say
that he was unattractive, seeing qualities in him that no-one
else could see. Héloïse understood her possessiveness: she had
always wanted a little brother, and having had Thomas taken
from her, she was more than ever delighted with Nicholas,
whom no-one could take away, except God. Whenever
Nicholas was ill, Sophie prayed long and earnestly to God to let
him stay, and undertook all sorts of penances in return for his
recovery. She had been very reluctant to go to school, because
it meant leaving Nicholas, and Mathilde had promised to
write to her every week with a bulletin on his health. On her return home, the first thing she did, even before hugging her
mother, was to ask how he was.

Sending Sophie to school had been hard for Héloïse to do,
for she not only loved her daughter, but enjoyed her company,
too. By a kind of irony, it was because of Nicholas that
the necessity arose. Once the first few weeks were past, and it
appeared that his death, though likely, was not imminent,
Fanny began to be jealous of him. She had never been jealous
of her brother Henry, for it had been plain to her from the
beginning that her father cared nothing about him, and that
he was the exclusive province of her mother.

But James brooded over Nicholas, worried about him,
evidently cared deeply for him, and worst of all, shared these
concerns intimately with That Woman; and all the jealous
pangs which had died away since Miss Rosedale came began
to revive. Fanny had tried at first to gain her father's attention
by normal means, but he, like everyone else, was too pre
occupied with Héloïse's and the baby's health to respond.

She began to hope very hard that the baby would die, and
the idea took such a hold on her, that one day Sarah had
found her hanging over Nicholas's crib, red in the face from
holding her breath with the force of wishing for his to stop.
Fortunately, there was no chance that Fanny might translate
her thoughts into action, for the baby was too well guarded by
Matty, who would not leave it for an instant unless it was in
the charge of someone else. The occasion when Fanny had
found him alone had been a freak chance, and unlikely to be
repeated.

Miss Rosedale, aware of her charge's turbulent feelings,
kept Fanny as busy as possible, and after a week or two began
to hope the jealousy had dispersed. Then it erupted again in a
series of attacks on Sophie, who, in the warped logic of
Fanny's passions, was the next obvious target. At first she had
merely picked quarrels with Sophie, provoking her to the
point where she could not help retaliating; then the warfare
progressed to the physical plane, and she had slapped and
pinched Sophie, pulled her hair, torn her dresses, and broken
her toys in the course of their quarrels.

No-one could have guessed, however, that it would go
farther. One day — Héloïse could never forget it — Edward and
James, Mathilde, Fanny and Sophie all went out hunting.
Sophie's pony had seemed a little uneasy and skittish, but as
it was the first time he had been shewn to hounds, it was
thought that he was merely excited. Durban, leading James's second horse, undertook to ride at the back with Sophie, and
stay close and keep an eye on them. Nothing much had
happened until they went over the first jump of the day; then,
as they had landed, the pony seemed to go mad, bucking like a
crazy thing, and Sophie had been violently thrown.

It might have been a very serious accident. Sophie was
lucky to escape with bruises and a shaking-up, for the ground
was hard; had she landed worse, she might have broken
bones, or even her neck. Fortunately they were not far from
Morland Place across the fields, and there had been plenty of
followers on foot to carry the little mistress home. Durban
caught her pony and led it back, and it seemed so quiet that
he was more than ever curious about what had caused its strange behaviour. In the courtyard at Morland Place, he
waved away the groom who came forward, took the pony into
an empty stall, and untacked it himself; and in lifting off the
saddle, pricked his finger badly on something.

It was a needle — the heavy-duty sort used for saddlery
repairs — embedded in the underside of the cantle. An examination of the pony's back revealed a puncture wound, with a
spot of congealed blood, just to the side of the spine. All was
now clear. The needle would have been pricking the whole
time, just enough to make the pony uneasy; but when
Sophie's weight came down in the saddle on landing over the
jump, it must have driven the needle hard into the poor
beast's back.

Thoughtfully, Durban removed the needle from the tack,
dressed the pony's wound, and mulled the business over in his
mind. It was possible that the needle had come there by
chance, even though the saddle shewed no evidence of repair.
Left lying about somewhere, it might have embedded itself
into the saddle in just that way. But there was another
possibility, a more sinister one. If it had not been chance, it
was a cold-blooded attempt to harm Sophie, and whoever had
devised it had calculated very carefully the effect it would
have: a fall over a jump was the most likely way for any rider
to break his neck. But who in the world would want to harm
Sophie? He could think of only one person.

Durban said nothing to anyone, until his master returned
from the hunt, and Durban was undressing him for his bath.
Then he shewed him the needle, and explained how he had
found it. James listened in silence, his face paling as the
implications became clear to him.

‘Who else knows of this?' he asked tersely.

‘
No-one, sir. I thought it best no-one should know until I
had spoken to you. As Miss Sophie came out of it all right —'

‘
Yes, you were right. Say nothing to anyone,' James said.
must speak to Madame about it. Of course, it might have
been an accident.' Then his legs began to tremble and he sat down abruptly, putting his hands over his face. He felt sick.
'Thank God she's all right!' he groaned through his hands. 'If
she had been hurt —’

He hastened through his dressing and then went in search
of his wife. The house was quiet: everyone was at their baths.
James hurried past the closed door of Fanny's room, not
daring to think, to wonder
 
Héloïse was with Sophie, who had been put into the old
night-nursery for ease of nursing. The little girl, looking
astonishingly unmarked, had been bathed, her bruises dressed
with arnica and witch-hazel, given a draught, and was now
drifting off to sleep, holding her mother's hand. James bent
over her to kiss her smooth, hot cheek. She looked so small and
so fragile in the big white bed, and he thought, shudderingly,
how nearly he had lost her. Worrying about Nicholas had
been part of Nicholas's life from the beginning, but he had
never for an instant contemplated life without Sophie.

When she was finally asleep, James took Héloïse through
into the deserted schoolroom for privacy, and in as few and as
calm words as possible, told her what Durban had told him.
She listened in silence, and when he stopped speaking, put
herself wordlessly into his arms. They held each other for a
long time, each thinking they were comforting the other.

At last she said, 'Oh, James, it can't be possible.' And yet,
he thought with dull resentment, she did not sound as surprised
as she ought to be. Shocked, but not surprised.

‘
We know nothing,' he said in a hard voice. 'We don't know
that it got there by design. It might have been the merest
chance.’

Héloïse straightened up, and looked at him steadily. 'No,
we don't know. And there can be no investigation. You see
that?'

‘
Yes,' he said miserably. 'It might have been an accident, as
Durban says, but if it wasn't —' He couldn't believe that
Fanny would do such a thing; and yet if she had

‘Who else knows of it?'

‘
Only Durban. He's very discreet. And he's undertaken to
see to Sophie's pony himself from now on, whenever she goes
riding.’

Héloïse looked up at him with frightened eyes, suddenly
realising the full implications. 'Oh, my poor Sophie!
Suppose —'

‘
Don't,' he said, gripping her hands. 'Don't think about it.
I can't bear it.'

‘
But what shall we do? James, it is not just a matter of her
pony. If — someone — wishes to harm her, they will find a
way, some other way. It is intolerable to go on, risking her
safety, not knowing; and yet how can we find out?'

‘
It's only a passing phase. It won't last for ever,' he said
miserably. 'We'll watch over her carefully —’

Héloïse's face was white and set. 'No,' she said. 'I won't sacrifice my child for yours. That is no bargain.'

‘
Héloïse, you must understand, I can't face Fanny with
this. How could I ask her if she tried to kill her sister? Put
yourself in my place. Could you ask such a thing? Supposing
she didn't — think how it would shock her!'

‘Supposing she did,' she said stubbornly.

He shook his head, a gesture as much of pain as negation.
‘No, not my Fanny. Not my little Fanny. You don't know
her —'

‘
Then Sophie must be sent away. It is the only way. She
must go away to school, where she will be out of reach of
harm.’

There was a silence. James stared, unable to speak as his
mind twisted uselessly this way and that. Finally he said, 'If
one of them must be sent away, in fairness, it should be
Fanny.’

Héloïse pressed his hand, aware of how much it had cost
him to say that. Though he loved Sophie dearly, his feelings for Fanny were of a different order entirely. She caused him
so much pain, yet he would give his life for her, if he could.

‘
Thank you' she said. 'I shall not forget that. But Fanny
belongs here. She must stay with her inheritance, and learn
how to govern it. She is Miss Morland of Morland Place. It is
Sophie who must go. Oh James — !' And the tears she had
been holding back until then broke through her self-control.
James held her close, resting his cheek on her hair, and
staring blankly at the wall behind her, wondering how things
could have gone so wrong, and how it would all end, and how
they could ever explain it to Sophie.