Mary Nichols - Mistress Of Madderlea

It was the most terrible storm Sophie had ever witnessed and the terrified horses, intent on turning away from the flashes that continually rent the air in front of them, galloped off the road across the rough heath-land, bumping the carriage up and down so that the occupants were hard put to hold onto their seats. They had heard a scream as the coachman was thrown off and though the groom who sat beside him on the box tried to retrieve the reins, he could not. Helplessly, they hung on until a wheel hit a rock and the whole vehicle turned over to the sound of rending wood, screaming horses and cries of terror, hers as well as her aunt’s. And then there was black silence.

How long Sophie had been unconscious she did not know. She had come to her senses when she heard rough voices. ‘They’re dead, every last one of them.’

‘Well, we can’t leave them here. Best find out who they are, send for help.’

It was then she had cried out, unsure whether she had made enough sound to alert them, but then a man’s head peered at her over the edge of the mangled vehicle, where she had been trapped with the dead weight of her aunt on top of her.

‘There’s one alive in here. Help me get her out. There, there, miss, you’re safe now.’

Safe yes, but badly injured. The rest of that day and the weeks that had followed were a blur of pain and misery, but there had come a day when she had woken to find herself in a pretty bed chamber and the sun shining in through the window. Aunt Madeleine, her mother’s sister, had been smiling down at her, her pale face full of gentle concern.

‘How did I come to be here?’

‘We fetched you, just as soon as we heard the dreadful news that you were lying at death’s door in the infirmary at Newmarket.’ Her aunt had lived in England since her marriage and her English was perfect but there still remained a trace of a French accent which reminded Sophie of her mother.

She had a hazy memory of being carried, of being put in a vehicle of some kind, of groaning at the pain and of wishing only to be left alone to die in peace. But then there had been soft sheets and someone stroking her brow and muted voices, of returning consciousness which was too painful to bear and of drifting back into sleep. ‘When?’

‘Two months ago.’

Two months! ‘Uncle Henry? Aunt Margaret?’

‘I’m sorry, Sophie, you were the only one found alive and we thought we might lose you too. Now you are going to get well again. Charlotte will come and sit with you.’

Only later, when they thought she was strong enough, did they tell her that she had inherited Madderlea Hall. ‘It is not entailed,’ Uncle William had told her. ‘Your grandfather had a daughter and when it looked as though he would have no more children, he took steps to break the entail. The irony of it was that his daughter died and then, late in life, he had two sons, your Uncle Henry and your father. Now both are dead and you are a considerable heiress.’

She was mistress of Madderlea! But under the law, being unmarried and female, she could not have control of her inheritance, even if she had been well and strong. Until she married, it had to be administered by a trustee. In his will, her Uncle Henry had appointed William Hundon who, besides being her Aunt Madeleine’s husband, was also a lawyer. Uncle William had employed an agent-cum-steward to live at Madderlea Hall and look after its affairs while she remained with her uncle and aunt and her cousin Charlotte at Upper Corbury, growing stronger day by day.

It was an unsatisfactory position. Madderlea needed more than an agent; it needed someone who cared about it. She ought to live there herself, but when she suggested it, her uncle and aunt threw up their hands in horror. ‘You know that’s not possible, Sophie,’ her uncle said. ‘Even if the law were to allow it, I, as a trustee, certainly should not. You would be the target of every rake and fortune hunter in the country.’

‘But it is such a worry to you, Uncle and I would not, for the world, burden you with it if I could help it. You have done so much for me already.’

‘There is only one sure remedy,’ her aunt put in. ‘You must find a husband.’

A husband. A husband, to have and to hold, for better or worse, to obey, to share her burdens, someone to take over the running of her affairs and manage Madderlea, to produce heirs. But where was she going to find a husband prepared to take on Madderlea, who was not a rake and a fortune hunter in a quiet backwater like Upper Corbury? She could count the eligible bachelors in the county on the fingers of one hand. There were widowers of course…She shuddered.

‘You will have to marry sooner or later, Sophie dear,’ her aunt went on. ‘Now you are fully recovered, I think you should have a Season and William agrees with me.’

‘A Season? In London?’

Her aunt smiled. ‘Yes, London, where else?’

Charlotte, eyes shining, echoed, ‘A Season! Oh, Sophie, how wonderful. I wish…’ She stopped. There was no question that she could be brought out in that way; her parents did not move in those exalted circles and it was unkind of her to express the wish.

‘But, Aunt, surely that will be too much for you?’ Sophie said, knowing her aunt could only walk a few steps and that very slowly with the aid of sticks. ‘I am persuaded it can be very exhausting.’

‘Your aunt will not be going,’ her uncle said. ‘And neither will I. I would not dream of leaving her. Besides, I have an important case on at the County Court and it is set to last all summer.’

‘How, then?’ asked Sophie, mystified.

‘We shall find a lady to take you under her wing and bring you out with her own daughter. It is sometimes done, I believe, in return for a contribution to the expenses.’

‘In other words, I am to pay for my hostess’s daughter as well as myself?’

‘Yes, but you see—’

‘And suppose I do not care for the lady or her daughter?’

‘Sophie, please do not be difficult,’ begged her aunt. ‘It is the only way.’

‘I would much rather pay for Charlotte to accompany me. In truth, I would like that very much. It is not fair leaving her behind and showering money on a stranger.’

‘Oh, Sophie,’ Charlotte breathed. ‘I should like that above everything.’

Sophie gave her an affectionate smile. She loved her cousin dearly. At nineteen, she was almost the same age as Sophie, but shorter and rounder. Her hair was very fair and her eyes blue as the summer sky, giving her an innocent, almost childlike look which was deceptive. Sophie turned back to her uncle. ‘Could you not find a lady without daughters, a widow, perhaps, who would sponsor both of us?’

Her uncle looked doubtful and she added, ‘Please, Uncle William. I am quite determined on it. If you wish to see me married and have the burden of Madderlea lifted from your shoulders, then Charlotte must come too. I do not care how much it costs.’

Charlotte was aghast at the way Sophie had spoken, but her father seemed not to be offended. ‘That sounds very like blackmail, Sophie, or bribery…’ The twinkle in his eye belied his words.

‘Oh, Uncle, I did not mean that. Please forgive me.’

‘Very well. I will try to find a mature lady to take you both under her wing. And the sooner the better. Charlotte, you must look after your mother, while I am away. I shall not be gone above two days, I hope.’ With that he left the table and called his manservant to help him to pack.

Charlotte could not contain her excitement, though Sophie was more subdued. In the previous two years she had become so used to taking life very quietly and avoiding agitation in order to aid her recovery that it had become a habit. No one would have believed she was once animated and brimming over with energy. The family physician had said she would recover her spirits in time, they must all be patient. Now, it seemed he had been right for a little of Charlotte’s enthusiasm was beginning to affect her and she began to be impatient for her uncle’s return.