“But until such a time, his fortune remains his, and I remain penniless,” Sophie reminded her aunt. Sophie did not know what had happened to her father, but she feared the worst. Unlike the rest of the world, she did not believe him eccentric enough to abandon his daughter—no matter where his findings had led him. “Anyway, it’s no use. No one will invite me to their balls anymore. I’m a pariah in society now because people believe I live alone, and they disapprove of that. And some say I’m mad because they think I talk to myself.” She frowned at her aunts.
“Oh, Bosh! People always gossip,” Aunt Mildred said. “Pay no heed to that.”
“And who would be my chaperone?” Sophie asked. “A young lady cannot attend a ball unaccompanied.”
“You don’t need a chaperone,” Aunt Agnes said. “We will be at your side the entire time, and we have our ways of making people believe what is not there. As far as everyone is concerned, you will be accompanied by a trustworthy and innocuous relative, who no one will remember by the end of the evening.”
“Marvelous!” Aunt Mildred clapped her hands. “Now, we must make sure you have the most beautiful gown for Lady Cheshire’s New Year’s Ball. The cemetery at Highgate is a treasure trove, but I’m afraid it won’t do for that purpose. We shall have to take a trip to Oxford Street.”
“Now that’s going a bit too far!” Sophie scolded as her Aunt Mildred zipped around the room in excitement. “We must think of a better plan than stealing.”
“I’ve already told you, we only take what’s necessary, and all will be paid back when your papa returns.”
“A ball gown certainly isn’t a necessity because I shan’t need it. What makes you think Lady Cheshire will invite me to her ball?”
“Don’t worry about that, dearest,” Aunt Mildred trilled. “Your Aunt Agnes and I will see to it that she does.”
“You’re not going to—” Sophie began, but her aunts had already slipped through the walls, disappearing from sight.
Chapter Three
Cheshire Hall,
Maidstone, Kent
Although November hadbarely begun, the entire staff at Lady Cheshire’s estate in Maidstone was preparing for her annual New Year’s Ball, to be held at her London residence. Cook would spend the coming weeks drawing up a menu, while her ladyship instructed her housekeepers on decorations and other necessities.
Lady Cheshire’s companion, Thelma, whose job it was to prepare the invitations, put down her quill pen and stretched her aching fingers.
“Don’t dilly dally,” came Lady Cheshire’s sharp voice from across the room. “I want those invitations going out first thing tomorrow.”
“Yes, my lady.” Thelma glanced at her ladyship, who lounged, glass of port in hand, in front of the fire on her dusty-pink settee. Her white cat, Melcombe, sat on her lap and watched Thelma, his intense green eyes never leaving her face. She wondered if he somehow conveyed to his mistress her every move, so that a single stretch or eye rub was noticed, earning her a reprimand.
She picked up her quill pen again and began to address a new envelope to be delivered by Lady Cheshire’s army of footmen.Going down the list in front of her, she stopped at Lady & Miss Waterford. Putting the quill pen to the envelope, she attempted to script the letter L, but her hand would not cooperate. It was as though she’d lost control, and it had developed a mind of its own. The harder she tried to script the letterL,the more her hand insisted on making the letterM. Then, as if driven by another force, her hand wrote:
Miss Sophie Spencer
63 Swain’s Lane
Highgate, England
Thelma stared at the envelope, open-mouthed. Then she turned to the list and searched for the name Miss Sophie Spencer. It wasn’t there.What in the world?She picked up the envelope, intent on crumpling it up, but before she had a chance, it flew out of her hand. She watched in disbelief as the envelope sailed across the room, wondering whether she was dreaming. But Melcombe must have seen it too because his hair stood on end, and he arched back and hissed at the floating envelope.
“Whatever is the matter, darling?” Lady Cheshire stroked the beast. “What did you do to him?” She turned sharply on Thelma.
But Thelma could not respond because her skin prickled with fear, and she was rendered speechless as an excited voice whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, dear. This one will deliver itself.”
*
Mid-November 1857
Westminster, London
Simon Arthur VincentRegis, 5th Earl of Rodwell, sighed as he reread the letter in his hand.
Nephew,
I refuse to accept your decline of the invitation to my annual New Year’s Ball. You might be an earl now, but I am still your aunt, and I will be deeply wounded and humiliated if you reject me so publicly. That is why, dear nephew, I know you will come. Moreover, I’ve invited Miss Waterford. The two of you are the talk of the town.
