It was Thursday morning before Nicholas drove up to Trescadinnick and rang the doorbell. He greeted Sophie with a smile and spoke as if they had not parted on uneasy terms.
‘I’ve come to take you for a drive,’ he said. ‘I thought we could go over to St Morwen and lunch together at the Duke’s Hotel there.’
Sophie was pleased to see him, but it was with some disquiet that she accepted his invitation. ‘That sounds a lovely idea, Nicholas,’ she said, ‘but is it quite proper for us to lunch alone in a hotel?’ It was the wrong thing to say.
Nicholas’s eyes hardened. ‘You go gallivanting about the countryside alone with your cousin,’ he snapped. ‘We, an engaged couple, will be in a public dining room in a respectable hotel. I really can’t see the problem, Sophie. Don’t you want the treat I planned?’
‘Of course I do, Nicholas.’ Sophie was immediately contrite. ‘It sounds delightful. Just let me find my coat and hat.’
He waited impatiently while Sophie warned Mrs Paxton that she would not be in for lunch and then put on her coat. As they were about to leave, Charles came in through the front door. He had seen the doctor’s gig outside and knew he had come to call, but he was surprised to see Sophie dressed to go out.
‘Sophie, is Dr Bryan not joining us for lunch?’ he asked.
‘No, I thank you.’ It was Nicholas who answered. ‘Sophie and I are going to have luncheon at the Duke’s Hotel.’ He stepped forward and opening the front door, ushered Sophie outside.
They spoke little on their way to St Morwen. Sophie wanted to discuss what Nan Slater had told her, but she realized that jogging along the country lanes was not the right place for such a conversation. She would wait until they were sitting down together somewhere and she could see his face, but when they were shown into the hotel dining room and seated at a table in the window, they were surrounded by other diners, and it was clear that this wasn’t the place to bring up the subject either. Nicholas’s mood had eased after the drive and he spoke lightly about what he’d been doing since she had seen him. She did not want to spoil his mood by mentioning she had been to see Nan.
As they were eating their dessert, he looked up and said, ‘What time is the lawyer coming tomorrow? I assume you’ve told your cousin that I shall be there too.’
‘Of course,’ Sophie replied.
‘And he made no objection?’
‘No, why should he? I simply said that if we were talking about the Trust, I wanted you there as well, to hear what they had to say.’ She did not add that although Charles had made no objection, he had shown some surprise, saying, ‘I see. I’ll let Staunton know.’
‘Mr Staunton is coming to Trescadinnick at two in the afternoon tomorrow,’ Sophie told Nicholas. ‘Will you come for luncheon first?’
‘No, I have my rounds to make,’ Nicholas said. It was Friday, the day when he collected his fee from those whom he’d attended in the week. ‘I’ll come at two.’
The conversation had not flowed with its usual ease today. Sophie was all too aware of what she needed to say to Nicholas, but there never seemed to be a right moment to embark on the conversation and it wasn’t until they had returned to Trescadinnick that she said, ‘Nicholas, please join me for some tea. There’s something else we need to discuss.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Very well, but I can’t stay long.’
Sophie led him into the drawing room and when she’d poured the tea that Edith had brought, she drew a deep breath and said, ‘I went to see Nan Slater on Monday. Paxton and I took her some logs.’
‘I’m surprised at you, Sophie,’ Nicholas said coldly. ‘I thought I’d asked you not to go visiting my patients on your own.’
‘I was not on my own, Nicholas,’ Sophie answered. ‘Paxton was with me.’
‘Paxton was with you? That makes it all right, does it? When I’ve particularly asked you not to go?’
Sophie was determined not to be deflected from the main issue and said, ‘I had promised Nan that I would bring her some firewood, and—’
‘Oh, it’s Nan now, is it?’
‘Mrs Slater, if you prefer.’ Sophie would not be cowed. ‘It was you who took me to meet her in the first place, Nicholas,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ agreed Nicholas, ‘and I’m beginning to wish that I hadn’t. Visiting her with me is an entirely different thing.’
‘So I discovered.’
‘What do you mean?’ For the first time Nicholas sounded uneasy.
‘She’d heard we were engaged—’
‘So has the entire village,’ Nicholas said. ‘You can’t keep that sort of thing secret.’
‘And she asked me a question.’
‘Which was?’
‘How long I’d known you?’
‘Which you told her was none of her business. Really, Sophie, you lay yourself open to such impertinence if you go into the cottagers’ homes.’
‘She asked if I’d known you before.’
‘Before? Before what?’
‘Before coming to Trescadinnick. And I said no, and then she said, So he hasn’t told you who he really is then, and I—’
‘My dear girl,’ interrupted Nicholas. ‘This is all nonsense. You know perfectly well who I am.’
‘Do I? That’s not what Mrs Slater said.’
‘Sophie, my love,’ said Nicholas calmly. ‘I told you before, old Nan Slater is gradually losing her mind. You should pay no attention to her ramblings.’
‘She wasn’t rambling, Nicholas. She told me about your mother, her friend Cassie.’
‘I believe they did know each other when they were girls,’ conceded Nicholas. ‘But that was years ago and her memory is very unreliable now, you know.’
Undeterred, Sophie went on. ‘She told me about your father too.’
‘Nan Slater knows nothing about my father,’ stated Nicholas. ‘He died some years ago, while I was training in London.’
‘She says your father was Jocelyn Penvarrow. What do you say to that, Nicholas?’
‘I say that the woman is raving mad,’ replied Nicholas gravely. ‘What do you expect me to say?’
‘And your Uncle Edwin? Your mother’s brother.’
‘Edwin? Why, I told you about him myself, just the other day. It’s what I’m trying to explain to you, Sophie. Nan is confused these days. She knew my mother, I’m aware of that, so she probably knew my uncle as well. But it’s all so long ago and she’s muddled in her mind.’
‘Listen to me, Nicholas,’ Sophie said. ‘Please?’
Nicholas shrugged. ‘Go on then. Tell me what else that stupid old woman is saying.’
‘Before I say any more about what she told me,’ Sophie said, ‘I have to tell you what I already knew.’
‘Well, go on.’ Nicholas feigned indifference, but he was listening intently. What could Sophie have known before Nan Slater started shooting off her mouth?
‘I have letters which confirm much of what Nan says.’
‘Letters, what letters?’
‘Letters written by my Uncle Jocelyn to my mother in London. They were arranging for him to marry your mother. She was already carrying you and was living with her sister Hetty in Truro.’
‘So, you have letters arranging for your uncle to marry some girl who was expecting. But who’s to say that she was my mother?’
‘Nan was Cassie’s friend. She was there when you were born.’
‘Let me get this straight, Sophie. You believe that I am the natural child of Cassie, Nan’s friend, and Jocelyn Penvarrow?’
Sophie nodded.
‘That,’ replied Nicholas, ‘is utterly ridiculous.’
‘You may say so, Nicholas,’ replied Sophie steadily, ‘but I have come to believe it is true.’
Nicholas finally took refuge in anger. ‘You mean to say that you believe old Nan Slater more than me?’ he snapped. ‘The man you’re going to marry?’
‘Listen, Nicholas. I also have a letter from Cassie, written to my Uncle Jocelyn. She loved him very much and as soon as he was of age they were going to marry. But he died. He fell over the cliff. He died before they could marry and Cassie died soon after, giving birth to you. Nan says—’
‘Nan says! Nan says!’ mimicked Nicholas. ‘Nan Slater knows nothing!’
‘She says that Jocelyn was your father and the letters I have bear that out,’ repeated Sophie, ‘which means we’re cousins.’
Nicholas got to his feet and began pacing the room. ‘Sophie, I’ve listened to you. Now you listen to me,’ he said, trying to steady his voice. ‘What you’re thinking is not true. At least, much of it isn’t. It is true that I was born out of wedlock and that my mother died giving birth to me, but do you really think that is something I want the world to know? That I’m a bastard?’
Sophie flinched at the use of the word and he pressed on. ‘It is a terrible thing to admit that you don’t know who your father is. I was brought up by my mother’s sister and her husband, but they would never speak of my mother. They were ashamed of her and so was I. As to my father, the man the world knew as my father, he was my Aunt Henrietta’s husband, Albert Bryan.’ He glowered at Sophie and said, ‘I am not a Penvarrow!’ And the expression on his face was one she suddenly recognized. She had seen it before, on the face of her grandfather, Thomas Penvarrow, and she knew he lied. Nan Slater’s words echoed in her head. Some of the Penvarrows is kind, others, not so.
‘So,’ Nicholas continued, ‘now you know the worst about me. I’m the bastard son of an unmarried mother and an unknown father. I’ve had to make my way in the world with nothing more than the few pounds my foster-father left me. But you know me. I am a doctor, who cures illness and fights sickness. Does it matter who my actual parents were? I was brought up in a God-fearing household and my Aunt Hetty and Uncle Albert were my real parents. Do you love me any the less because my parents were not married?’
As he asked the question, Sophie was aware there had been a shift in her emotions – not because he was an illegitimate child, that was hardly his fault, but because he was still lying to her.
‘No,’ she said honestly.
‘Thank goodness for that.’ Nicholas’s relief was obvious. ‘My dearest girl, you have to understand that Nan is a confused old woman. Such people become childish as they get older and their memories get tangled up. Please don’t try and disentangle the truth, Sophie. It’s a waste of time.’
Sophie thought of the letters she had in the drawer in her bedchamber. They were the truth and she knew it. Nan hadn’t lied to her. It was Nicholas who was tangling partial truths with lies, trying to convince her he was not a Penvarrow. But why? It didn’t matter that they were first cousins; that was no bar to their marriage. Why could he not admit that Jocelyn was his father? He must know that he was.
Suddenly Sophie wanted him to go. She needed to be alone, to think things through and to decide what she should do. She stood up and walked to the window. Nicholas followed her and put his arms round her, pulling her close. She stiffened and he felt it.
Releasing her, he murmured, ‘Don’t turn from me, Sophie. You’re mine. I love you and you’re mine. Don’t you believe that, Sophie?’
She looked up at him, her eyes full of tears. ‘I don’t know what to believe any more!’ And with that, she turned aside and left him in the drawing room.
Nicholas stared after her for a moment before he walked swiftly out of the house and climbing into the gig, set off at a smart trot to Tremose.