her. If she had accepted his proposal he would be by her side now. His hand would be at her elbow ready to provide support, should she need it. If she had married John, her mother might not even have dared to try to see her. Despair rose in her and she knew she was about to cry, but she could not let this woman see her cry.
“Sophia, who is your visitor?”
Sophia turned to see Mary enter the room. It seemed her friend had not expected to receive a visitor, for she was carrying a workbasket. Sophia managed to pull herself together in time.
“Mrs Finch, allow me to present Mrs Arbuthnot, my mother.”
Mary neither smiled, nor curtsied. Sophia’s mother did both.
“Mrs Arbuthnot, you are not a woman I expected to call at my house.”
Mary was surprisingly fierce. She and Edmund were used to welcoming all kinds of people into their home in their efforts to gain information; it had not occurred to Sophia that there might be people they would simply refuse to receive. She had been so caught up in her own shame that the full shamelessness of her mother’s visit had escaped her. Edmund and Mary were probably the most respectable people in Brussels and her mother, a woman living with her lover and illegitimate children, had called on them uninvited.
Mrs Arbuthnot drew herself up stiffly, her anger obvious to the younger women.
“I am visiting my daughter.”
“To whom your visit seems to be as unwelcome as it is to me.”
Mrs Arbuthnot blanched.
Mary placed her workbasket on the table and rang for a servant. Nothing was said before the footman entered the room.
“Georges, please show Mrs Arbuthnot out and please tell the other footmen that no one is at home should she call again.”
The footman glanced at Sophia’s mother.
“Wait, she might call herself Mrs Grant. She is not to be allowed entry under that name either.”
Mrs Arbuthnot did not even glance at Sophia before she swept out of the room, followed by Georges.
“Come and sit down,” said Mary, putting her arm through Sophia’s and leading her to a sofa. “That must have been difficult. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you.”
“I didn’t even think about this being your house. Please forgive me for allowing her in.”
“Sophia, if you had been happy to see her, I would have welcomed her, despite her reputation, despite Edmund’s instructions. I heard you shouting at her from the hall.”
A tear dropped from Sophia’s face onto her hand. Impatiently, she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“It’s unnatural for a daughter to hate her mother,” she said. “You must think me ungrateful.”
“No. Sophia, I can see your mother has caused you much pain.”
“Could you do what she did for love?”
This was a question she had asked herself often over the years. Was her mother wicked, weak or brave?
Mary considered for a moment.
“I have only ever loved Edmund,” she said slowly, “and I cannot imagine him pursuing a married woman.”
“But if you loved another man now, instead of Edmund. Try harder,” she insisted as her friend shook her head.
“I can’t imagine loving a man who would want to take me away from my husband and children. The idea of making Edmund unhappy…”
Mary’s pallor showed that she was giving the question serious consideration. Sophia felt guilty for causing her such pain.
“I can imagine it,” said Sophia. “If I were married to someone else and John... If John came and asked me to go with him I would go.”
“Oh, Sophia.”
“But not if I had children,” added Sophia hastily. “I’d be his lover if he wanted, but John wouldn’t want that. Duty is too important to him and he would do his duty by my husband, however much he loved me. And he doesn’t love me, not anymore.”
Mary put her arms round her and Sophia began to cry. She had not said that she could not marry another man, but it had been her thought. There was no one for her, but John. There would be no husband, no children. Her
“Sophia, who is your visitor?”
Sophia turned to see Mary enter the room. It seemed her friend had not expected to receive a visitor, for she was carrying a workbasket. Sophia managed to pull herself together in time.
“Mrs Finch, allow me to present Mrs Arbuthnot, my mother.”
Mary neither smiled, nor curtsied. Sophia’s mother did both.
“Mrs Arbuthnot, you are not a woman I expected to call at my house.”
Mary was surprisingly fierce. She and Edmund were used to welcoming all kinds of people into their home in their efforts to gain information; it had not occurred to Sophia that there might be people they would simply refuse to receive. She had been so caught up in her own shame that the full shamelessness of her mother’s visit had escaped her. Edmund and Mary were probably the most respectable people in Brussels and her mother, a woman living with her lover and illegitimate children, had called on them uninvited.
Mrs Arbuthnot drew herself up stiffly, her anger obvious to the younger women.
“I am visiting my daughter.”
“To whom your visit seems to be as unwelcome as it is to me.”
Mrs Arbuthnot blanched.
Mary placed her workbasket on the table and rang for a servant. Nothing was said before the footman entered the room.
“Georges, please show Mrs Arbuthnot out and please tell the other footmen that no one is at home should she call again.”
The footman glanced at Sophia’s mother.
“Wait, she might call herself Mrs Grant. She is not to be allowed entry under that name either.”
Mrs Arbuthnot did not even glance at Sophia before she swept out of the room, followed by Georges.
“Come and sit down,” said Mary, putting her arm through Sophia’s and leading her to a sofa. “That must have been difficult. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you.”
“I didn’t even think about this being your house. Please forgive me for allowing her in.”
“Sophia, if you had been happy to see her, I would have welcomed her, despite her reputation, despite Edmund’s instructions. I heard you shouting at her from the hall.”
A tear dropped from Sophia’s face onto her hand. Impatiently, she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“It’s unnatural for a daughter to hate her mother,” she said. “You must think me ungrateful.”
“No. Sophia, I can see your mother has caused you much pain.”
“Could you do what she did for love?”
This was a question she had asked herself often over the years. Was her mother wicked, weak or brave?
Mary considered for a moment.
“I have only ever loved Edmund,” she said slowly, “and I cannot imagine him pursuing a married woman.”
“But if you loved another man now, instead of Edmund. Try harder,” she insisted as her friend shook her head.
“I can’t imagine loving a man who would want to take me away from my husband and children. The idea of making Edmund unhappy…”
Mary’s pallor showed that she was giving the question serious consideration. Sophia felt guilty for causing her such pain.
“I can imagine it,” said Sophia. “If I were married to someone else and John... If John came and asked me to go with him I would go.”
“Oh, Sophia.”
“But not if I had children,” added Sophia hastily. “I’d be his lover if he wanted, but John wouldn’t want that. Duty is too important to him and he would do his duty by my husband, however much he loved me. And he doesn’t love me, not anymore.”
Mary put her arms round her and Sophia began to cry. She had not said that she could not marry another man, but it had been her thought. There was no one for her, but John. There would be no husband, no children. Her
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