The Invention of Sophie Carter Read online

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  For Stacy and Michelle, the best sisters a girl could ask for

  PROLOGUE

  THE WHEELS IN THE POCKET WATCH turned in never-ending circles. Sophie watched the gears move as if hypnotized, until her ten-year-old twin sister, Mariah, nudged her arm.

  “Make Edmund smile again. I’m drawing his mouth now.”

  Sophie dangled Papa’s golden pocket watch over her baby brother’s bassinet. He cooed and reached for it with his tiny hands. Laughing, Sophie gently touched his dark, downy hair. It was so different from her and Mariah’s curly red locks. But then, he wasn’t their blood relative; Papa and Mama had taken Sophie and Mariah in when their birth mother died bringing them into this world.

  Sophie watched Mariah gently sketch Edmund’s upper lip onto the paper in the curve of a smile. Mariah had already drawn Edmund’s round head, closely set eyes, and his little button nose. Even without a bottom lip, the picture clearly resembled their little brother.

  “What are you two doing to my baby?” Mama snapped as she entered the room, looming over Sophie and Mariah with an accusing look on her face. She had dark circles around her brown eyes, looking as if she hadn’t slept since Papa left for the Galapagos Islands two weeks before.

  Sophie stepped back, away from the bassinet and her mother. She was always the one Mama accused of wrongdoing.

  Mariah held up her sketch. “I was only drawing a picture of Edmund, and Sophie was helping me by making him smile,” she explained. “Show her, Sophie. Show her how Edmund laughs.”

  Sophie reluctantly dangled the pocket watch by its chain over the bassinet again, and Edmund smiled up at them.

  Mama lifted her hand—Sophie shrunk away from her, clutching Papa’s pocket watch against her chest. She wished he hadn’t gone on another voyage, leaving her with a foster mother who didn’t love her, or even like her. Mama only cared for Mariah and, now, for baby Edmund.

  “I won’t hold it over him, if you don’t want me to,” Sophie said quickly. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”

  “Give me Captain Trenton’s watch,” Mama said, holding out her hand.

  Sophie clutched the golden pocket watch even tighter in her little hands and shook her head. “Papa gave it to me so that I could count the seconds until he returned from his voyage.”

  “Captain Trenton’s pocket watch is not a toy. It’s very valuable. Now, give it to me.”

  “It belongs to Papa.”

  “It belongs to me,” Mama said sharply. Edmund began to cry.

  “I’ll give it back to Papa,” Sophie pleaded. But Mama wrenched it out of her hands.

  “Go to your room and help Nurse pack your things,” Mama said, picking up Edmund, whose cries had become loud wails. “You’re leaving.”

  “Are we going to meet Papa?” Mariah asked.

  “You’re going to Lyme Regis to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Ellis,” Mama said, bouncing her crying baby. “Mr. Ellis was a friend of your dead father’s. And since your aunt, Lady Bentley, refuses to have anything to do with you, there is nowhere else to send you.”

  “How long are we going to stay with them?” Sophie asked.

  “Pack all your clothes and ask no more questions.”

  They’d never visited anyone before without Mama or Papa. Something was not right about this visit; Sophie could feel it. But before she could ask another question, Mariah took her hand and gently led her from the room. They found Nurse in their bedroom already packing their things into one large trunk.

  “What can we do to help?” Mariah asked.

  A tear slid down Nurse’s red cheek, and she placed a soft hand on both of their faces. “Nothing, my dear girls. The carriage will be here soon.”

  “Are you coming with us?” Sophie asked.

  Nurse shook her head, spilling more tears. “I have to stay with Edmund. But you’ll be good girls, though, won’t you?”

  “I’m scared,” Mariah said.

  Nurse turned and picked up Mariah’s doll with the pink ribbons in its hair and handed it to Mariah. “Hug Lydia if you’re scared, dear. And you won’t be alone; you have Sophie.”

  Sophie was scared, too, but she didn’t dare admit it. Nurse picked up Sophie’s identical toy. “I suppose you don’t want to bring Dianetha along.”

  “You know I don’t like dolls.”

  “How about hugs?” Nurse asked, opening her arms. Sophie stepped into them, breathing in the familiar scent of starched linen. Mariah joined the embrace, and for a moment, everything felt right again.

  Until they heard carriage wheels on the pavement in front of their house.

  Sophie broke away from Nurse to look out the window. The carriage driver jumped down from his perch onto the cobblestone road.

  “Grab your bonnets, girls,” Nurse said as she closed their trunk—the sound had a finality to it.

  Mariah started to cry. Sophie took her hand and helped her sister put on her bonnet and coat. Nurse carried the trunk down the stairs, where Mama stood by the front door, holding it open. The girls followed Nurse out to the street, where the driver took the trunk and secured it to the back of the carriage.

  Pulling her hand from Sophie’s, Mariah threw her arms around Mama’s middle. Mama’s face softened for only a moment before she said, “Get into the carriage, Mariah.”

  Sophie couldn’t leave home without Papa’s pocket watch. How was she supposed to tell time without it? And how was she to know how long it would be until Papa would return for her?

  “I forgot Dianetha,” she lied, darting back into the house. Instead of heading for her bedroom, she ran to the drawing room. There was a loose brick on the fireplace where she knew Mama hid her precious pearl necklace. Sophie pulled out the brick and the box behind it. Inside, sitting on top of the pearls, was Papa’s pocket watch.

  Sophie grabbed it and shoved it in her pocket, then pushed the box back into its secret spot and replaced the brick. Taking the stairs by twos, she dashed to her room and grabbed the doll.

  Panting, Sophie ran out of the house. She hugged Nurse one last time before climbing onto the carriage seat beside Mariah, who was clutching her own doll tightly. The driver closed the door and tipped his hat to Mama. She didn’t say a word, not to him or her foster daughters.

  The carriage started forward, and Sophie glanced one last time out the window. Nurse had tears on her face, but Mama looked grimly satisfied. Sophie reached her hand inside her pocket and felt the watch and its linked golden chain. She rubbed her thumb over and over the scrolled decoration on the front of it.

  Papa would come for his pocket watch. He would come for her and Mariah.

  * * *

  After several hours, the carriage stopped in front of a narrow row house with peeling red paint. There was a sign in the front window that read CLOCKS AND REPAIRS. Mariah clutched her doll with one hand and Sophie’s hand with the other.
She inched closer to her twin, feeling less afraid with her near.

  “Why did the driver bring us to a clock shop?” Mariah asked. “Do you think there’s been some mistake?”

  Before her sister could answer, the driver opened the door and held out his hand to Sophie. He helped Mariah out next and then untied their trunk from the back of the carriage. He placed it in front of the door to the clock shop and knocked three times. Mariah was afraid he would leave them, but he waited until a woman answered the door. She was younger than Mama, but her face was already harshly lined. Her light hair was combed back in a severe bun, and her eyes were a color between gray and blue. The woman’s dress was dark and very worn, nothing like the bright silk gowns that their Mama wore.

  “Mrs. Ellis,” the driver said, and tipped his hat to her, before smiling reassuringly at Mariah and Sophie.

  Mariah tentatively returned his smile and looked eagerly up at Mrs. Ellis. “Thank you for inviting us to stay.”

  Mrs. Ellis laughed; the harsh sound was grating to Mariah’s ears. “You weren’t invited. The Trentons don’t want you no more and my husband is the only person alive foolish enough to take in two strangers.”

  Mariah looked at Sophie, who was hugging her doll for the first time ever. She looked just as scared as Mariah felt.

  “Are you two witless?” Mrs. Ellis asked.

  “No, ma’am,” Sophie said.

  “Then grab your trunk and come in,” Mrs. Ellis said. “I don’t have all day to stand in my doorway.”

  Mariah released Sophie’s hand and they each took a handle of the trunk to carry it into the house. They walked through the shop that had only five clocks on display, a cluttered table, and a man with a wooden leg sleeping in a chair. He wore a sailor’s coat and looked like a rumpled pirate. A door from the shop led to a staircase and a kitchen, which was the only other room on the main floor of the house. She saw a table with dirty dishes on it and four chairs that did not match.

  They set their trunk on the floor, unsure what to do with it. Mariah wrinkled her nose; something smelled very unpleasant. She looked behind the door and saw two dirty little girls eyeing her doll, Lydia, in wonder. Mariah guessed the oldest girl was three and the younger girl about a year old—her nappy was probably dirty. They reminded Mariah of Edmund, and she wished she had thought to bring the sketch of him with her.

  “Should we take the trunk to our room?” Mariah asked.

  “There’s a mattress in the attic you can share for now, and no more of your fancy airs,” Mrs. Ellis said, spitting on the already dirty floor. “You’re a pair of charity cases that ought to be thrown on the parish, and that’s exactly what I’ll do if you give me any trouble. Now, tell me you’re grateful to me for taking you in when no one else wanted you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ellis, for taking us in,” Mariah said, then nudged Sophie with her elbow.

  “Thank you,” her sister muttered.

  Mrs. Ellis smiled, and Mariah noticed that her two front teeth were gray.

  “I can tell by your pretty little hands that you’ve never done a day’s work. Well, that’ll change right now. You,” she barked, pointing at Mariah, “take care of my girls, and you”—she pointed to Sophie—“scrub the kitchen. There’s a shared pump with a bucket in the back. I’m going to take your trunk to the pawn shop and see what your things will fetch—not nearly enough to pay for your keep, I reckon. Now, hand over your fancy dolls.”

  Mariah’s arm tightened around Lydia. She didn’t want another thing that she loved taken away from her. She glanced at Mrs. Ellis’s dirty children, who were holding on to her skirt. “Might we give our dolls to your daughters?”

  Sophie immediately handed her unwanted doll to the older girl—it was no sacrifice for her. The little girl’s face lit up and Mariah felt a twinge of pity for her.

  Mrs. Ellis held out her hand for Mariah’s doll. Mariah hugged Lydia one last time and handed it to her. Mrs. Ellis then ripped Sophie’s doll out of her daughter’s hand. “They need food, not fripperies.”

  Both little girls began to cry. Mariah’s already broken heart cracked further for these unloved little girls, but Mrs. Ellis appeared unmoved.

  “The big one is Agnes and the baby is Sarah,” Mrs. Ellis said. “I want them both cleaned up by the time I return.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Ellis set the dolls on top of the trunk and carried them both out the kitchen door. Mariah picked up the crying baby and felt wetness on her hand. The smell up close was unbearable. She’d never changed a nappy before, but she’d watched Nurse change Edmund. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

  “I’d better start cleaning the kitchen,” Sophie said, her hand in her pocket. She was clearly hiding something, which was smart if she wanted to keep it. Mariah watched her walk out the back door and pick up a bucket to fetch water. Mariah was going to need water, too, if she was going to clean up the little girls.

  The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in a blur for Mariah. Her hands ached from scrubbing out the dirty nappies, and the small bowl of soup she’d eaten for dinner did not even begin to curb her hunger.

  When they were finally sent to bed for the night, she took Sophie’s hand and together they climbed the stairs, up the ladder, and into the attic. They had no gas lamp or candle, so they had to feel their way along in the dark.

  Finally, Mariah touched a lumpy mattress on the floor with a thin blanket on it. Both she and Sophie lay on it, snuggled close together for warmth. She heard the scurrying of little paws and forced herself to hold in her scream.

  “Do you think that was a mouse?”

  “Or a rat,” Sophie said, yawning. “I’m too tired to care.”

  “Do you think it’s true?”

  “What?”

  “What Mrs. Ellis said,” Mariah whispered. “That Mama and Papa don’t want us anymore.”

  Sophie squeezed Mariah’s hand. “Our parents are dead and the Trentons aren’t our family.”

  Mariah shook her head. She was sure that Mama and Papa loved her and Sophie. They’d taken care of them for ten years. She pictured their warm, beautiful brick house with five servants, not including Nurse. Mama and Papa sitting at opposite ends of the dinner table, eating beef Wellington, bread, tripe, and then pudding … Mariah could almost taste the pudding. Her hungry stomach made a gurgling noise it had never made before.

  “We are their daughters. They’ll come for us,” Mariah said. “There’s been some sort of mistake.”

  She heard Sophie shake her head. “They have a son of their own now. They don’t need foster daughters anymore.”

  Tears began to leak from Mariah’s eyes. “Then we’re all on our own?”

  “You have me and I have you,” Sophie whispered. She kissed Mariah’s wet cheek. “We don’t need anyone else.”

  ONE

  Eight Years Later

  MR. ELLIS’S HANDS SHOOK SO much that he could barely hold the curved metal pick, let alone perform the precise movement required to set the snail to the hour wheel inside Mrs. Bidwell’s clock. He dropped the pick and it clattered to the floor. Sophie stooped down to retrieve it and accidentally bumped Mr. Ellis’s wooden leg. He cursed.

  “Sorry,” she said, setting the tool next to the clock.

  He put his shaking hands on the table and used them to push himself to his feet. Even standing, he was a hunched shell of a man.

  “I need a drink to steady my hands. Do you think you could finish up Mrs. Bidwell’s clock and deliver it to her?”

  “Yes, Mr. Ellis.”

  “And pick up some more laudanum from the apothecary on your way back,” he said. “My leg is hurting something awful with the change in the weather.”

  “I will,” she said, nodding. “Shall I tell Mr. Fisby to add it to your account?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Ellis put a shaking hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a penny, placing the coin in her hand. “You’re a good girl, Sophie.”

&nb
sp; She nodded, knowing the coin was more a bribe for her silence to Mrs. Ellis than payment for the errand. In the eight years that she’d lived with the Ellises, she’d learned that it was best to keep her distance from the missus altogether. Sophie’s younger self had found a way to do this by performing small tasks for Mr. Ellis.

  At first, she’d fetched hammer pins, click screws, and gathering plates for him. But it wasn’t long before Mr. Ellis began showing her how to use the tools and fix the clocks herself. Sophie had steady hands. Mr. Ellis did not—especially when he was sober. And today, since Mrs. Bidwell had paid in advance, he was not going to be sober for much longer.

  Sophie watched Mr. Ellis drag his wooden leg out of the shop and into the street before pocketing the penny. She was eighteen years old now, and she needed every cent she could get her hands on to start a new life. Placing the snail over the cannon pinion and hour wheel, she used the metal pick to screw it into place. Next, she put on the minute wheel and secured it with the minute wheel cock. The wheels interlocked and she carefully spun them together so that they turned around in circles.

  She cringed when the front door opened, hoping it wasn’t Mrs. Bidwell. None of the villagers knew that it was Sophie who fixed the clocks. If they knew a girl and not a master clockmaker was doing the repairs, they would take their business elsewhere and the Ellises would lose the small income that they had.

  Thankfully it was only Mariah. “Where is Mr. Ellis?”

  Sophie exhaled and shrugged her shoulders. “Mrs. Bidwell paid him in advance.”

  Mariah stepped closer to the worktable. “So he’s gone to the tavern to drink, then?”

  Sophie nodded. “I don’t expect we’ll see him until he’s either run out of coins for beer or is blind drunk. Where have you been?”

  “Delivering the miniatures I painted of Mrs. Johnson’s daughters.”

  “Did she pay you?”

  “She paid Mrs. Ellis.”

  Sophie huffed in frustration. “Mariah, you should insist that you get at least some of the money. You do all the work.”