Sophie woke to an insistent knocking on the front door, and realizing that Hannah must still be out, she glanced into the mirror. Her eyes were red and her hair in disarray, but she sluiced some cold water onto her cheeks, patted the stray wisps of hair into place, and went down to see who should be demanding entrance so determinedly. She opened the front door with words about impatience on her lips, but those words died unspoken as she saw her mother standing outside on the step; her mother, not as she’d last seen her, sunken-eyed, her skin stretched tight across her cheekbones, translucent and paper-white, her hair thin and greying, but as she had been before her illness took hold, cheeks glowing with health, eyes bright with laughter and curiosity, hair thick, rich, dark, luxuriant. Her mother stood on the step, a question in her brown eyes, and said in her gentle voice, ‘Sophia?’
Sophie didn’t pass out, though she thought for a moment or two that she was going to. She simply stared at her mother, her head spinning and her body cold, as the shock hit her and the colour drained from her face. Her lips formed the word Mama, but no sound came and she continued to stare.
Her mother’s expression changed from one of query to one of concern, and stepping forward she took Sophie’s arm and guided her into the house. Sophie sank onto a chair in the hall and the visitor closed the door behind them. For a long, silent moment Sophie remained crouching in the chair at the foot of the stairs, her mind dazed. Diamonds of sunlight cast through the glass of the front door, patterning the floor, and the solemn tick of the grandfather clock emphasized the silence, rather than broke it. Her mother spoke again. Only it wasn’t her mother, of course. Her mother was dead. But it was someone so incredibly like her that it took careful study of her face to notice the differences. When she did speak her voice was one of great concern.
‘Sophia, my dear, are you all right?’
Sophia. Well, her mother had never called Sophie that, and anyway the voice was wrong. This was deeper and there was the trace of an unfamiliar accent, missing from her mother’s voice.
The visitor continued. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve given you a shock, my dear. I did write but perhaps you’ve not received my letter yet. I’m your Aunt Matilda and I’ve come to take you home.’
Sophie stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘Aunt Matilda?’
Her aunt said gently, ‘Yes. Aunt Matty. I’m your mother’s twin. She’ll have told you about me, no doubt. Your grandfather wants you to come home.’
Still dazed, Sophie ignored the last part of what she’d said, but latched on to the first. ‘Her twin? I didn’t know she had a twin. I didn’t even know she had a sister... or any family!’
Matilda knew from the letter that Mary hadn’t told Sophie she was writing to Trescadinnick, but she’d assumed that Sophie had at least some knowledge of the family. Clearly not. She smiled and reached for Sophie’s hand. ‘Well, we’ve obviously got a good deal of catching up to do. Perhaps we could go into the parlour and have some tea.’
‘Hannah’s out. She’s at the market.’ Sophie was still unable to think straight.
‘Then I’ll make us some,’ declared Aunt Matilda. And taking off her coat, she hung it on the stand in the hall. As if she’d known the place all her life, she found the kitchen and set the kettle to boil. She looked into cupboards to find cups and saucers, a teapot and the tea. Still bemused, Sophie watched her and then obediently led her through to the parlour where she set down the tray on the table and poured the tea.
‘My father received a letter from your mother some days ago,’ Matilda began, after she’d tasted the tea. ‘We were all heartbroken to hear she was dying.’
‘A letter from my mother?’ Sophie stared at her incredulously. ‘I know nothing about a letter.’ She replaced her teacup on its saucer and stared at the carbon copy of her mother, sitting across the hearth. How could Mama have posted a letter in the last weeks of her life? She hadn’t left the house. Then she realized. Hannah! Of course it must have been Hannah.
‘So...’ Sophie spoke abruptly. ‘What did my mother say in this letter?’
‘She addressed it to your grandfather. Unfortunately, he’d just had a seizure and was very ill when it arrived so it wasn’t opened for several days. If it had been I’d have come sooner.’
‘My grandfather?’
‘Thomas Penvarrow of Trescadinnick.’ When Sophie looked blank, she added, ‘That’s in Cornwall.’
‘Cornwall?’ echoed Sophie faintly. She picked up the teacup again and took a sip. ‘I don’t know anything about any of you. I didn’t think Mama had any family. She never mentioned you.’
‘No. Well, I can understand that,’ Matilda said sadly. ‘She became estranged from our father when she left home to marry yours.’
The tea began its work and Sophie felt a little steadier. ‘Why?’ she asked sharply. ‘Why were they estranged?’
Matilda sighed. ‘That’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it, but first I have to explain why I’ve arrived on your doorstep.’
‘No!’ Sophie interjected. ‘Tell me the story first.’ She felt a rising anger, both at her mother for not having told her about her family, even if she had nothing to do with them, and anger at this woman, this aunt, who assumed she could simply turn up in London and tell her what to do. She stared angrily at the woman across the room, seated in her mother’s chair, a facsimile of her mother, and her anger burned inside so that hot tears filled her eyes.
‘My dear Sophia,’ began Aunt Matty, but Sophie interrupted her.
‘I’m not your “dear” Sophia, I’m not your dear anything. It’s obvious you’re who you say you are, because you’re so like...’ her voice broke a little, ‘like my mother, but other than the fact that you happen to be my aunt, there’s nothing between us.’
Her aunt answered gently, ignoring her rudeness. ‘No, I agree, there is nothing between us at the moment but an accident of birth. But that’s something I want to change, something I’ve come from Trescadinnick to change. I was very close to Mary, your mother. You know, that often happens with twins; they feel each other’s pain.’
‘Do they?’ Sophie’s scepticism was clear. ‘And did you know she was dying?’
‘I knew something was wrong.’ Her aunt spoke softly and wearily.
‘Then why didn’t you come? If you were so close, why didn’t you come?’
‘Because I didn’t know where to come. Until her letter arrived, we didn’t know where she lived.’
Silence closed round them. There was no answer to that.
‘And when she died?’ Sophie said at last.
‘When she died I felt relief – the relief she must have felt at the end of her pain. I wept for her and knew part of myself was gone.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Sophie sighed. ‘If you were so close why did you lose touch? Your father, my grandfather, might have disowned her, but you didn’t have to.’
‘Did your mother tell you what caused the breach between them?’ Aunt Matilda asked.
‘No, she never mentioned any of you. I didn’t know you existed till now. But you said she left home to marry my father.’
‘And so she did.’ Her aunt smiled ruefully. ‘There was a little more to it than that. You see, Mary was Father’s favourite among us, there’s no doubt about that, and he had thought to marry her to a local landowner, George Treslyn. When she took up with John Ross it spoiled his plans.’
Sophie was incredulous, and staring at her aunt in amazement she interrupted. ‘Just a minute, Aunt Matilda.’ Sophie didn’t even notice she had adopted this form of address, but her aunt did and smiled. ‘You mean that’s why he disowned her?’
‘It’s not as simple as that,’ her aunt replied. ‘Father had arranged Mary’s marriage without consulting her, and she was never really reconciled to it, though she did agree in the end. George Treslyn was a much older man and extremely rich. His land is not far away from ours and Father considered it an eminently suitable match. Anyway, Mary finally agreed, provided she and I were allowed to come to London for the season first. Mary got her way and Father agreed to the bargain. Mother was already dead, of course, but a distant cousin of Mama’s, Agnes Ross, invited us to join her family for the season as her daughter was being brought out. So, off we went with great excitement to have one glorious season of entertainments and parties before we settled down to the lives of country matrons.’
‘Had he arranged your marriage as well?’ demanded Sophie.
‘Not by then, though I think he already had someone in mind. He’d decided to deal with Mary’s first.’ Matilda’s laugh had a touch of bitterness. ‘Mary always came first. Anyway, we went to London, and all went well until Mary met Agnes’s younger son, John.’
‘My father.’
‘Your father. Mary and he fell in love and became engaged. I knew there’d be trouble, but Mary, glowing with happiness I remember, insisted that once Father met John, everything would be all right. Of course it wasn’t. We came home at the end of the season and Mary told Father that she’d changed her mind; that she’d fallen in love with someone else and refused to marry George Treslyn. Father was furious and forbade the marriage. John travelled down from London and tried to speak to him, to obtain his consent, but our father wouldn’t even have him admitted to the house.’
‘What happened?’ asked Sophie, wide-eyed.
‘Father exploded with rage and sent John packing. He didn’t go far. He stayed at an inn in Truro, while Mary tried to work on Father, but for once she wasn’t able to talk him round. John came of a respectable Suffolk family, but he was a younger son and had no money of his own. He had to make his own way in the world. Not at all what Father had in mind.’
‘What did Mama do then?’ All Sophie’s hostility to her aunt slipped away as she became embroiled in her parents’ love story.
‘Father told Mary that his decision was final and that John Ross wouldn’t be coming back. He said that the date for her wedding to George Treslyn had been set and that she’d better put John Ross out of her mind.’
‘He sounds very autocratic,’ remarked Sophie.
‘He always has been and he hasn’t improved with age,’ smiled Matty. ‘But your mother had much of him in her, you know. She didn’t like to be thwarted either. On hearing his pronouncement about her marriage, Mary quietly packed her bags and left. It was our twenty-first birthday, the day she came of age. Saying goodbye to no one, not even me, she went to meet him and they left for London.’ Matty sighed. ‘I’d never had Mary’s courage, particularly in dealings with my father, and I couldn’t defy him and go back to London with her. I had no one waiting for me there, so I stayed at home.’
‘But your father? How did he take Mama’s departure?’
‘In ice-cold fury; far more frightening for the rest of us than his normal bellowing rage.’
‘So you had to stay at home and face the music.’
‘More than that,’ continued Aunt Matty. ‘I had to pick up the pieces Mary had left, and try to take her place.’
‘Take her place? You don’t mean...?’ Sophie could hardly credit the idea that had slipped into her mind.
‘Oh yes.’ Matty confirmed the thought. ‘I had to marry George Treslyn.’
‘But didn’t you mind?’
‘Mind? Of course I minded.’ Even after the passage of almost thirty years her tone still held a trace of bitterness. Then she smiled and said more gently, ‘I hadn’t much choice really, and there were things to be said for the match. I knew now I would never marry for love. I knew I’d never be allowed to return to London and perhaps find a husband there. If I married George I would at least have some standing in the world. I’d no wish to stay at Trescadinnick at my father’s beck and call for the rest of my life. So as soon as we heard that Mary had married John Ross and Father knew there was no going back, I became engaged to George Treslyn and was married on the day that had been arranged for Mary.’
‘Didn’t Mr Treslyn mind the change?’ Sophie was fascinated by this whole tale, amazed at this strange introduction to her family. Her tea cooled unheeded beside her as she leaned forward in her chair to hear more.
Matty shrugged. ‘He didn’t seem to. He hardly knew us as people, and to his eye we were probably indistinguishable.’
‘But why did you let your father bully you?’ Sophie demanded.
‘He was my father. I did as he wished.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I hadn’t your mother’s courage; I hadn’t your mother’s determination, and... I hadn’t got John Ross.’
But you wanted him, Sophie realized, in the brief silence that followed her words. How sad that they’d both fallen in love with the same man. She looked with fresh eyes at her newfound aunt, her mother’s twin. They were indeed almost identical; even their hairstyles were similar. But there was no way she would ever confuse the two of them again. It was the shock of finding Aunt Matilda unexpectedly on the doorstep that had blinded her to their differences; these were subtle, almost indefinable. And yet, conjuring up her mother’s face before her, she knew that though the arrangement of the features was the same, with similarity of colouring and contours, and even at times the expression, the two faces were only alike, not identical.
Before the silence became awkward Matilda smiled up at Sophie and said, ‘So, gradually we lost touch. Mary and I wrote to each other for a few months, but then the letters became less and less frequent. Then the time came that I had to break the news of Joss’s accident. She travelled down to Trescadinnick for his funeral, but Father wouldn’t speak to her, or even acknowledge that she was there.’
‘Just a minute,’ Sophie interrupted. ‘Who’s Joss?’
‘Joss was our brother. He died in a tragic accident when he was still a young man. When Mary heard the news she came down to Trescadinnick.’
‘And your father wouldn’t speak to her, even then?’ Sophie was incredulous.
‘No. I’m sorry to say he ignored her, cut her dead in public.’
‘But you? Didn’t you talk to her?’
‘Of course I did,’ Matilda said. ‘I think she’d hoped to make it up with our father, but after the way he treated her that day, well, she simply went back to London and disappeared from our lives.’ Matilda sighed. ‘She’d told me they were going to move, but I never heard from her again. I didn’t know where she’d gone. I’d lost her.’
‘How could your father treat her like that?’ demanded Sophie. ‘His own daughter!’
‘It’s how he is,’ replied Matilda. ‘And after Joss’s death and Mary’s marriage, he became more morose and dictatorial than ever, so woe betide anyone who crossed him, or set themselves against him. It was as if, somehow, he blamed himself for Joss’s accident, though, of course, he had nothing to do with that.’
Sophie was about to ask what had happened to Joss, but Matilda went on. ‘Life at Trescadinnick became even more bleak. In a way being married to George was a relief. It had given me an escape from the house and from... Well, anyway, it was pleasant to be my own mistress in my own home. George was always kind and generous, and we grew fond of each other. He was much older than I was and when he died ten years ago I was as sad and lonely as any other widow. Still, he left me well off and independent, and I’ve been happy enough. Now,’ she went on briskly, ‘no more of that. Tell me about your mother.’
Sophie was about to reply when she heard the back door bang. ‘That’ll be Hannah. I must tell her you’re here. I don’t want her to have the same shock as I did.’
She hurried from the room, to reappear almost at once with Hannah at her heels. ‘This is Mama’s sister, Hannah,’ Sophie began. ‘She’s come from Trescadinnick in Cornwall, in answer to a letter from Mama.’
Hannah evinced no surprise when she saw Matilda seated in the parlour, but with a sniff she bobbed an infinitesimal bob, and said, ‘How d’you do, madam? I hope you’ve come to see Miss Sophie straight in all her difficulties. It’s not right that she should lose her home what she’s lived in all her life and go out governessing when she’s got family what’s able to provide for her, and that’s a fact.’
‘Hannah—’ began Sophie in dismay, but Matilda interrupted her.
‘Quite right, Hannah,’ she replied approvingly, showing little surprise or annoyance at being addressed in such a forthright manner by her niece’s maid. ‘Miss Sophie’s troubles are over, I promise you. There is no question of her being a governess.’
‘Well, I’m very glad to hear it, ma’am, indeed I am—’
‘Hannah,’ Sophie said quickly to stem the flow, ‘I believe my aunt will stay for dinner. Please see to it straight away.’ She glowered across at her and Hannah disappeared, shaking her head and muttering under her breath, apparently unrepentant.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sophie said as the door closed behind her. ‘But she’s looked after me ever since I was a baby, and she’s very protective.’
‘So I see,’ said Matilda dryly. ‘Still, she needn’t worry about you any more. Now, tell me about your mother.’
So, as the afternoon faded into evening, they sat together in the little parlour while Sophie told her aunt about her life, of her father’s death when he was knocked down in the fog, and of her mother’s last illness and death.
‘I don’t know how she wrote to you,’ Sophie said, as they lingered over the meal Hannah had prepared. ‘I think Hannah must have posted the letter for her.’ She suddenly remembered Hannah’s remark about not knowing what was just round the corner. Had she been aware of what was in the letter?
‘Your grandfather was very ill at the time. He’d had a seizure just before her letter came and it wasn’t opened until he was safely on the mend. That’s when he sent me to fetch you.’
‘Fetch me?’ Although her aunt had said this before, for the first time the meaning of her words really penetrated Sophie’s brain. ‘What do you mean, fetch me?’
‘Your grandfather wants to see you, Sophie.’
‘Why?’ She spoke abruptly. ‘He didn’t want to see my mother.’
‘He’s no quarrel with you, Sophie. You’re his only grandchild and he’d like to meet you. He’s an old man and probably hasn’t very long to live. Despite everything, he loved your mother, you know. When he heard of her death he broke down and cried. I’ve never seen him cry before, Sophie. It was a terrible sight. Then, a few days later, he asked me to come and find you.’
‘If he loved my mother so much, you’d have thought he’d have asked her home.’
‘He’s a proud man, Sophie. His pride wouldn’t let him admit his need to see her until it was too late. And remember, there are two sides to every argument. Mary could have made the first move.’
‘She had her pride too,’ Sophie said defensively.
‘Exactly. Two pig-headed people each hurting themselves as much as the other. I think that was another reason he wept so bitterly, because he had left it too late to be reconciled. Don’t carry on this feud, Sophie. Come and see him, for a short while at least.’
‘I’ll think about it, Aunt Matilda,’ Sophie said, and stood up to bring the visit to a close. She wanted to be on her own now, to think things through and come to terms with everything she’d heard that afternoon.
Matilda got up too, saying as she did so, ‘I’m sure this has all come as a great shock to you, my dear, but perhaps you’ll think over what I’ve asked and if I may call again tomorrow we can discuss it further.’
They went to the front door and Sophie helped her aunt into her coat. ‘Where are you staying?’ she asked as she opened the door.
‘I’m at Brown’s,’ Matilda replied, and seeing her niece’s expression added with a cheerful smile, ‘Don’t look so surprised, Sophie. I told you George left me very comfortably off. We’ve no children so I’ve no one to spend it on but myself.’ She paused on the threshold. ‘May I come and see you again tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘To hear your answer?’
‘If you want to.’ Sophie felt suddenly very tired and wished her aunt would go.
‘I’ll see you in the morning then. Goodbye, Sophie.’ She held out her hand and as Sophie took it, Matilda reached across and kissed her cheek. Then she turned away and walked briskly down the path to the hansom, which must have been waiting for her ever since she arrived.
Sophie shut the door and stood leaning against it for a moment, her eyes closed, the silence crowding round her. Then the grandfather clock, her father’s pride and joy, whirred noisily and struck nine. Her aunt had been there for just five hours, but those five hours seemed set to change her life.
*
Sophie didn’t sleep easily that night. Despite her determination to put Matilda’s story out of her head she found it impossible. It churned round and round, robbing her of sleep, and when at last she did doze off she dreamed of her mother, young and healthy, the mother of her childhood. They were walking on a cliff top. Sophie could hear the waves far below and the cries of the gulls wheeling above. Her mother stepped off the cliff, floating gracefully above the sea. ‘This is where we belong,’ she called as she drifted away from the cliff. ‘Feuds are death to a family.’ Sophie tried to reach out to her but found herself falling.
Her own cries of fear jerked her awake and she lay in bed trembling. In the grey of pre-dawn she could see the outlines of her own familiar room, but the dream stayed with her, vivid and disturbing.
There was no more sleep for Sophie after that and she soon gave up trying. She got out of bed and throwing a shawl over her nightgown, sat in the chair by her window watching the dawn rise over the street outside. As the sky began to lighten, colour came creeping back into the houses opposite, and shafts of early sunlight lit the undersides of the plane trees that lined the road. She saw the lamplighter walking slowly from street lamp to street lamp, extinguishing the yellowing flames. She watched the first signs of life as the neighbourhood began to awaken to another day, and yet her dream stayed with her, closer than the reality in the street outside. It didn’t surprise her that she had dreamed of her mother; after all, she had been prominent in her thoughts throughout the previous day, but the powerful images of the dream did not fade and she could still see the cliff and the sea. Her tired brain must have confused her mother and her aunt as she slept, her mother’s story muddled into her dream.