Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin

Chapter Eight

Philippa was awake when they returned. The sky was still cloudy and overcast but the rain had held off, so she was taking the air on the terrace just off the drawing room again. While Sophie had expected that she and the viscount would part ways upon their return, when she made her way out to the terrace, he accompanied her.

“Henry!” Philippa cried happily. “Thank you for taking such wonderful care of Miss Upchurch while I was resting. I cannot abide the thought that she would grow bored or languish while here with us.”

The viscount grinned. “I shall endeavor to keep Miss Upchurch well entertained when you cannot, Cousin.” Leaning forward, he kissed Philippa’s cheek. “I’m so glad to see you up and about.”

“Up, hardly about,” Philippa replied. “Where have you been?”

“We called on Lady Hemsley,” Sophie answered. “She was apparently very dear friends with Lady Parkhurst and was instrumental in Lady Parkhurst’s decision to take on a companion. She’s the reason I’m here, I suppose.”

Philippa’s expression never altered. “Lady Parkhurst was a patient of Dr. Blake’s. He’s terribly disappointed because she had stated she would see him remembered in her will and, alas, she did not.”

Sophie seated herself on another bench on the terrace and took in that bit of information. “What an unusual topic to come up in conversation.”

“Oh, well… it was last week. Right after she’d passed but before you’d arrived,” Philippa explained. “I suppose I was impertinent when I asked him if he was part of the social scene here, if he was, perhaps, looking for a bride.”

“And how did he answer such an impertinent question?” Henry asked her, as he strolled along the perimeter of the small terrace.

“Only that without the inheritance he’d expected from Lady Parkhurst, it would be some time before he’d be in a position to marry.”

“Unless he finds a wealthy bride,” Sophie stated.

Philippa frowned. “Well, yes, I suppose so. But he never said such a thing. I cannot imagine that he would have such an expectation.”

“My lord, would you please excuse us for a moment?” Sophie asked. “There is a delicate matter that I need to discuss with Lady Philippa.”

“Certainly. I’ll go in and arrange for a tea tray. I’m sure after our call and our walk you are quite parched, Miss Upchurch.”

When he’d gone back inside, Sophie looked at Philippa and asked very bluntly, “Has Dr. Blake been inappropriate with you?”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Philippa denied.

“He should not be discussing his marital prospects with you, first of all. Secondly, Philippa, I saw how he touched you this morning. Cupping your cheek. Brushing your hair back. Those gestures are very…”

“I know,” she said. “But he’s never done anything more than that.”

“But he shouldn’t be doing that at all. When did he begin making such overtures to you?”

Philippa clasped her hands in her lap, clenching them so tightly that her knuckles went white. “It hasn’t been very long. I know he shouldn’t and that perhaps I should say something to him or to Papa, but—I just want to be well, Sophie. I just want to laugh and dance and do the things other girls do. Dr. Blake insists he can make me better. He can give me the life I want to have. I’m afraid to say anything!”

The anguish the girl felt, the desperation that she clearly lived with every day as she felt life simply passing her by, that weighed heavily on Sophie’s heart. “What if there was another way to have what you want, Philippa? What if Dr. Blake’s restrictions are not designed to help you?”

“What else would they be designed to do?” Philippa asked. “I don’t wish to discuss this anymore. My head is beginning to ache and I simply can’t bear it. I know you mean well, Sophie. I do. But I’m just so very tired!”

How much of that was Philippa’s condition, Sophie wondered, and how much was the noxious elixir that Dr. Blake had prescribed for her? She would need to speak with the apothecary again to determine how long the effects of not having her daily laudanum would last for Philippa.

“I shall leave you to enjoy the air then,” Sophie said and rose.

“No,” Philippa said. “I really am tired. Would you have a footman come to take me upstairs? I need to rest.”

“Very well,” Sophie agreed. She moved back into the house, rang for the footman, and when he arrived almost instantaneously, she relayed Philippa’s request. Within seconds, it seemed, servants were scurrying to do her bidding and return the girl to her chamber. Her prison.

Sophie hoped that once the drug was entirely out of Philippa’s system, things would alter significantly for Philippa. If they did not, then the notion that Dr. Blake was doing her harm might become very difficult to prove. It would be even more difficult to secure Philippa’s cooperation.

Alone in the drawing room, Sophie stepped outside to the now deserted terrace. Moments later, a maid stepped through the door carrying a tea tray which she placed on one of the tables, dipped a curtsy and then bustled out. Seconds later, Henry came striding through.

“Where is Philippa?”

“I pressed her too hard,” Sophie admitted. “I asked her impertinent questions about Dr. Blake. She pled exhaustion and was taken upstairs to rest.”

*

Henry sighed heavilyas he settled onto the chair recently vacated by Philippa. “Does she care for him?”

“No,” Sophie replied thoughtfully. “I believe that Philippa’s loyalty to Dr. Blake is not an indication of her feelings for him as a man but her desire to believe the promises he has made to her about making her well.”

Frustrated, Henry clenched his fists at his sides. It was better than the alternative of tossing things about. “How can he make such a promise when he has yet to fully ascertain what her condition is?”

“He will likely call it some sort of hysteria and blame it on the fact that she is a woman,” Sophie replied bitterly. “It’s enough to get one locked in an asylum, after all.”

“I’d never considered it, but yes, I suppose it is,” Henry admitted. “You’re quite the reformer, aren’t you, Miss Upchurch?”

“Hardly that,” she replied. “It’s impossible to be a reformer when you have no power or position from which to demand change. I’m aware, of course, of what it means to be a woman in this world, of what it means to lack any sort of control or power over one’s own life. That’s why I find Effie—Miss Darrow—to be so remarkable.”

Curious but also a bit concerned, Henry asked for clarification. “Because of her school?”

“No. Because she has elected to retain her independence. A woman, once married, is little more than property. But women like Miss Darrow and me, those who are parentless under the letter of the law and who do not have husbands, we have a kind of freedom that other women will never know. It is the primary reason I have always been content with the idea of being a governess or companion. It will never afford me great wealth or even moderate financial security, but it will allow me to remain independent.”

“And your independence is very important to you,” he surmised. It was telling. He could see that Miss Upchurch had given a great deal of thought to her future. The question remained of whether or not he could sway her to think there were alternatives.

“Precisely.”

“And if you could find a husband who would not treat you as property, but who recognized your worth and treated you accordingly?”

She cocked her head to one side, a quizzical expression on her face. “Does such a mythical being exist? If so, I might be tempted. But it doesn’t change the law, does it? And the laws are the problem, really.”

“You are remarkable, Miss Upchurch. And your vision of the world is enlightening to say the least.”

“And you, my lord? What is it that you found the need to run away from?” she asked.

“This,” he said, sweeping his hand all around them. “Last year, my uncle decided he wanted the gardens redone. So I hired a designer, I hired a time, and the gardens were redone. Then he decided he didn’t care for it. So I hired a different designer and another team to attempt to return the garden to its prior state. And while doing that, I was managing his estates, managing my own estate, addressing issues with distant relatives who were then and now spending beyond their means. Regardless of that, we cannot let them starve or be evicted.”

“You take care of all of them?”

“To some degree, yes,” he replied.

“And who takes care of you?”

He laughed at that. “It was my ability to take care of myself from an early age that prompted my uncle to place more and more responsibility on my shoulders.”

“And your parents?” Sophie asked. “You’ve never said what became of them.”

“My mother died when I was a very small boy. I do not recall her at all really. My father died when I was twelve. He… umm… well, he was not himself without her. He frequented the opium dens of London with regularity. Outside of one of them, he was robbed, stabbed, and left for dead. Someone discovered him, brought him home and he died several days later after infection set in.”

He’d said it all rather matter of factly. But when he looked up, he knew that she’d heard something in his voice that hinted at his past pain. “It’s all right,” he said. “It was all a very long time ago.”

“Not so very long. Is that why you take care of everyone? Because you think you failed to take care of your father?”

The question pierced him to his soul. He’d never considered it. But it was likely true. “Perhaps. Which begs the question, Miss Upchurch, do you prefer independence because you believe no one can be depended upon?”

She was saved from answering by a great commotion from inside the house. Even from their position on the terrace, the noise was undeniable. Servants could be seen scurrying to and fro beyond the open drawing room door.

“Shall we go and see what that is all about?” he asked.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And let’s leave old wounds alone. Shall we?”

He nodded his agreement and offered her his arm. She accepted and, together, they made their way inside.