While Sophie and Nicholas were having their luncheon at the Duke’s Hotel, Charles rode into Truro to see Mr Staunton. Sophie had told him that she wanted Nicholas to be present when they were going through the details of the Trust and he was not at all happy about it. Without refusing, he had been noncommittal when she had suggested it, but he was going to see Mr Staunton in the hope there might be some legal reason to refuse her request.
When he arrived at the solicitor’s office, he was shown straight in and was surprised to find another man sitting at his ease across the desk from Mr Staunton.
As Staunton’s secretary held the door for him, the lawyer rose to his feet, his hand outstretched in welcome. ‘Mr Leroy,’ he said, ‘how fortuitous that you have called. Mr Jeremiah Hawke is here with some news.’
Jeremiah Hawke stood up and turned to meet Charles. He was a big man, tall and broad, his waistcoat straining across the barrel of his chest. His large head was circled with a fringe of shaggy black hair, and deep-set eyes peered out from under almost continuous eyebrows, above an eagle’s beak and a jutting chin.
Hawke extended a huge hand to grip Charles’s in a painful handshake. ‘Howdy do, Mr Leroy?’ he rumbled.
Charles returned the greeting, thinking as he did so that Jeremiah Hawke was not a man he’d want to cross, or meet in a dark alley.
Staunton pulled up another chair for Charles and said, ‘Mr Hawke has been working on our behalf and has just this minute come into the office to make his report.’
Charles sat down and having turned down the offer of refreshment, came straight to the point and asked, ‘What have you discovered, Mr Hawke?’
‘Not a great deal, as yet, sir,’ Jeremiah Hawke’s voice was sonorous and slow, ‘but I’m on the trail, on the trail.’
‘So where did you start?’ asked Staunton. ‘And where does your trail lead?’
‘First off I went to visit the daughter of Dr Marshall. Miss Daisy Marshall. She weren’t hard to find, because so many people knowed her father over the years. Miss Sandra Osell, rector’s daughter in Port Felec? She told me Miss Daisy had gone to live with her sister Perranporth way.’
‘And what could she tell you?’ Charles was itching to hurry the man’s report, but Mr Staunton was used to dealing with him and knew that the quickest way to discover what Hawke had learned was to let him speak in his own ponderous way.
‘That’s what I’m telling you,’ Hawke said. ‘Your Dr Bryan come to visit her about nine months ago, not long after her father died. She was still living in her father’s house at Port Felec then. He come along and said he was new-qualified and wanted to set up in practice. Said he wanted to buy her father’s house and dispensary. She asked him how he’d heard about her father’s practice and he said he’d been born in Truro, and that someone in the town had told him Dr Marshall had passed on and there was now no doctor in Port Felec. Your man told her that he wanted to come back to Cornwall and work in a country parish and that Port Felec would just suit him.’ Hawke paused and as Charles drew breath to ask him a question, Staunton gave a slight shake of his head, and Charles sat back and waited for the investigator to continue.
‘He said he had money and could pay her cash. She being anxious about money at the time, accepted his offer. Enough it was, she said, to let her move to her married sister’s up Perranporth way with something over to live on. I asked her if he showed her anything to say he was a doctor and she said he had some sort of certificate. Didn’t have her spectacles on, she said, but she was sure the large print on the top said St Thomas’s Hospital. He was such a charming young man, she said, and she was pleased that her dear father’s place was going to be filled so soon with a new young doctor from London. All the new ways, she said, all the new doctoring.’
‘So,’ Charles was losing patience, ‘where does that take us?’
‘It took me, sir, to St Thomas’s Hospital in London. I got a contact there’s helped me before. For a small fee he looked up the records and found that your Mr Bryan had enrolled to learn doctoring, but had disappeared after about nine months. My friend said lots of their students don’t finish learning and this Nicholas Bryan was one.’
‘You mean he’s not even a qualified doctor?’ Charles was aghast.
‘Looks that way, sir.’
‘Anything else that can help us, Mr Hawke?’ asked Staunton.
‘He told her he was born in Truro, so that’s another trail I can follow.’
‘And where will that take you?’ asked Charles.
‘Don’t rightly know yet, sir,’ replied Hawke. ‘Can but wait and see.’
‘I don’t know how much time we have to wait and see,’ said Charles in frustration, and he told them of Sophie’s request that Nicholas should attend their meeting the following day.
‘Not what I’d choose,’ Staunton said. ‘But if she invites him to be there, we can’t really say no. He is her affianced husband and as such it would be reasonable for him to be there. I expect he will want to be assured that her interests are being properly served.’
‘I’m sure he does,’ growled Charles.
Mr Staunton gave Charles a sympathetic smile. ‘You think he’s after her money, and on balance I do too, so we shall do our best to ensure he don’t get it. Within reason, we can deny him access to her inheritance.’ Turning to Jeremiah Hawke, he went on, ‘Back to London for you then, Mr Hawke, and telegraph me any more information you can discover.’
When the investigator had left the room, Charles said, ‘So what do we do now? Do we face him with the fact that he’s not even a doctor? Surely that must be enough to make Sophie think again.’
‘We could, but I’m sure there is more to discover and I think we should keep our powder dry until we hear from Hawke again.’
‘But it’s not just Sophie’s concerns here,’ Charles pointed out. ‘He’s practising as a doctor with almost no training. Surely he can be prosecuted for that. He attended my grandfather with no training at all. His doctoring may even have precipitated his death.’
‘Which is why we need to tread carefully,’ replied Staunton. ‘We need concrete evidence of wrong-doing. We only have the word of Miss Daisy Marshall that the certificate she saw was from St Thomas’s. Hawke told us that she didn’t have her spectacles, and if that is the case she could have been mistaken about which hospital it was.’
‘Or whether it was a certificate at all!’ snapped Charles.
‘Indeed,’ answered Staunton. ‘But there may be one from a different hospital, so I still think that for the moment we should wait.’ He saw the look on Charles’s face and said, ‘If we’re going to catch him, we have to be certain of our facts. It’s no good accusing him of something for which we have no proof. We need proof. If he knows he’s being investigated he may take fright and disappear.’
‘That’s exactly what I want him to do!’ cried Charles. ‘I want him to disappear, anywhere, away from Sophie.’
‘I know,’ Staunton said, ‘but it’s better to keep him under our eye for now. If he disappears he could well set up the same trick somewhere else. He has to be stopped. I know it’s frustrating, but we do have time. They aren’t getting married until the end of March. Hawke will cable from London in the next few days with more information and we can decide then what to do next.’
‘Suppose he finds nothing else?’
‘He’ll find something,’ Staunton promised. ‘I told you, I’ve used him before. He has useful contacts everywhere and he’s never failed me yet.’
Charles returned to Trescadinnick even more worried than when he’d left. Sophie was home again, but she was upstairs in her room and he didn’t see her until they met at the dinner table. She looked pale and seemed very subdued. Was that something to do with Nicholas Bryan? Charles came very close to telling her what Jeremiah Hawke had discovered, but he held back, the words of Mr Staunton echoing in his head. ‘We need proof.’
Instead he asked, ‘Did you enjoy your luncheon, Sophie?’
‘Yes, it was very pleasant.’
But Charles didn’t believe her. He had never seen her so cast down. Something must have happened. After dinner he stood aside to let her follow Louisa into the hall and when his mother had disappeared upstairs, he touched Sophie on the arm to stay her and asked, ‘Sophie? Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?’
Sophie fixed a smile to her lips and shook her head. ‘No, Charles. There’s nothing wrong, really. But if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll have an early night.’
‘I’ll wish you goodnight then,’ Charles said and watched as she picked up her candle and started upstairs. At the turn she looked back, and he thought he caught the glint of tears in her eyes as she asked, ‘What time will Mr Staunton be coming tomorrow?’
‘He will be here at two. I thought we might meet in the library. I’ve asked Mrs Paxton to make sure the fire is lit first thing so that room is really warm. I should have asked you first. I’m sorry.’
Sophie gave him a tremulous smile. ‘You don’t have to ask, Charles. This is still your home, you know.’ And with that she turned away and continued up the stairs.
It was not long before Hannah came knocking on her door to see if she was all right. ‘You’re looking right peaky, Miss Sophie,’ Hannah said. ‘I’m worried about you.’
‘You needn’t be,’ Sophie replied. ‘I just need an early night.’
‘When you was little and something was wrong,’ Hannah said, her back to Sophie as she poked the fire into a blaze, ‘you used to come to me and tell me.’ She replaced the poker and turning round, continued, ‘I’ve knowed you all your life, Miss Sophie, and I can tell when you’re upset or worried. Can’t you tell Hannah what it is that’s troubling you now? You know it won’t go beyond these four walls.’
Sophie was on the verge of tears and Hannah’s kindness brought them even closer, but Sophie fought them back and said, ‘I need to go home, Hannah. I can’t stay here. I need to go back home for a while, give myself time to get used to... well, everything.’
Hannah was no nearer knowing what was wrong, but she said at once, ‘Then we’ll go, Miss Sophie. The change will do you good.’
‘Really? Do you think we really can? Just go home, to London?’
‘You tell them tomorrow that we’re going and I’ll get everything packed up. We can be on the train on Saturday.’
Relief flooded through Sophie and at last she gave way and allowed her tears to fall. Hannah put her arms round her as she had when she was a child. ‘There, there,’ she soothed, ‘don’t take on so. It’s been a difficult time, but we’ll be home again before you know it.’
Sophie didn’t sleep well and in the morning she looked, if anything, paler than the day before.
‘I shall be going back to London for a few days,’ she announced at breakfast. ‘I know we have our meeting with Mr Staunton this afternoon, Charles, but Hannah and I plan to leave on Saturday.’
‘That’s all very sudden,’ remarked Louisa, looking up from her plate. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing, Aunt,’ Sophie replied. ‘But if I am to come here to live, there are things I have to deal with in London.’
‘It’s up to you, of course,’ sniffed Louisa, and turned her attention back to her bacon.
‘I quite understand,’ Charles said with a smile. ‘But I’m glad we’re still meeting with Mr Staunton this afternoon.’
Nicholas arrived at the house ten minutes before Mr Staunton. Sophie was waiting for him in the hall. He greeted her cheerfully, as if the conversation they’d had the previous afternoon had never happened, and asked, as he shrugged himself out of his coat and handed it to Edith, ‘Is the lawyer here yet?’
‘No, not yet,’ Sophie said, and she led him into the drawing room. She closed the door behind them and turned to face him. He moved forward as if to kiss her, but she put up a restraining hand. ‘I’ve changed my mind, Nicholas. I have decided that at first I shall see my trustees on my own—’ she began, but was interrupted by Nicholas.
‘Now, Sophie,’ he said sharply. ‘We agreed. It’s important that I’m there too.’
‘And you will be.’ Sophie spoke firmly. ‘But not until I’ve spoken to them first.’
‘And what will you say that I’m not allowed to hear?’
‘I shan’t say anything,’ replied Sophie. ‘I shall listen to what they have to say to me.’
‘So, why am I to be excluded?’
‘Because,’ Sophie said, ‘I want to hear them without interruption. I want—’
‘What do you mean, without interruption?’
‘Exactly what I say. Listen to yourself, Nicholas. If you don’t happen to agree with what’s being said, you interrupt and shout it down. You don’t listen. If you want to wait in here and come to join us in the library when we’re discussing what we plan to do, that’s fine, but I will hear them alone first.’
‘Sophie, this is quite ridiculous,’ snapped Nicholas. ‘You need to have another pair of ears listening to what they say. If I’ve heard everything myself, I shall be able to explain it to you afterwards, so there are no misunderstandings. You won’t know what questions to ask.’ Seeing her rigid expression, he softened his tone. ‘My dearest girl, I only have your best interests at heart. I just want to be sure—’
It was Sophie’s turn to interrupt. ‘To be sure that I’m not going to tell them of the discussion we had yesterday afternoon. About your being a Penvarrow? Well, I’m not, but you’ll just have to trust me for that.’
Just then the front doorbell rang and glancing out of the window, Sophie said, ‘That’ll be Mr Staunton.’ Without further comment she walked out into the hall to greet him. Nicholas followed, pale with rage at her decision. Charles was emerging from the study and when Staunton was divested of his coat he led him towards the library door.
Nicholas stepped forward and said, ‘I’m afraid I shall not be able to join you this afternoon after all. As I’ve just been explaining to Sophie, I have an extremely sick patient to visit beyond Felec Head, and her son has sent for me, so if you’ll excuse me...?’ He retrieved his coat from Edith and with a curt nod went out of the front door.
If Sophie wasn’t going to allow him to hear all that the trustees said, then he wouldn’t stay at all. He was angry, as angry as he had been the night before.
When he had got home the previous evening, he had poured himself a large brandy and considered what Sophie had faced him with. All his instincts had been to deny everything, to dismiss Nan as being senile and refuse to listen to any evidence that Sophie had. He had been to see Nan and there would be no further interference from that quarter, but he had been so stunned by Sophie’s assertions that he hadn’t considered his answers carefully enough. He had begun his denial in such vehement terms he couldn’t go back on it. What he should have done was to acknowledge that he was indeed Jocelyn’s son. He should have said that he’d only recently learned of his connection with the Penvarrows.
‘You see, Sophie...’ he spoke aloud as he paced his parlour, rehearsing the conversation he should have had with her. ‘I understood that they might not be pleased to recognize me as Jocelyn’s son, so I decided the best thing was to become acquainted with them slowly, before I claimed any kinship. I was just getting to know your grandfather, my grandfather, when you first came to stay at Trescadinnick. When I saw you, Sophie, it was love at first sight. I’ve never believed in that before, but it does happen, and the day you stepped down from the trap, it happened to me.’
Yes, Nicholas thought, he’d been stupid. That was how he should have handled her revelations. He should have admitted them and brought her in on his side. A version of the truth would have served him better than denial. Calming down a little he’d refilled his brandy glass and planned his next move. After the meeting with her trustees, he would speak to Sophie privately. He would apologize for lying to her, saying he’d been afraid of her reaction. He’d tell her he was trusting her now with his deepest secret, their secret. No one else need ever know that Jocelyn had been his father.
That had been his plan and he was sure it would have worked. Sophie doted on him, and he could have talked her round, but now, suddenly, she had shut him out, publicly shut him out and he’d had no chance to speak to her. He was furious, but he had walked away on his own terms. He could play the waiting game. It had worked well before. He would stay away from Sophie for a few days and then go back and make his admission. She had told him she wasn’t going to mention the question of his parentage to her trustees and he believed her; nor had she denied his excuse for leaving, allowing him to make a dignified exit. So, he decided, as he climbed up into his gig and set off down the lane to his imaginary patient, he was still angry, but all was not lost.