Sophie's Rebellion. Beverley Boissery
direction. But the bird sidestepped it easily and gobbled in disdain. John tried to hide a grin, Sophie laughed, and Lady Theo muttered in frustration.
With Eloise crossing herself at regular intervals and lifting her voice and eyes to the heavens, Mary took off her coat, excused herself as she pushed past Lady Theo, and opened the coach door. “You stupid French bird,” she began, as she climbed down the stairs. “If I was in Vermont, you’d be in a stew pot by now.”
The turkey, which had began charging towards her, stopped in his tracks, a picture of suspended animation. To Sophie and Lady Theo’s amusement, he actually seemed to be thinking about what Mary had said. While she continued to scold him, Lady Theo and Sophie managed to get themselves from the coach to the porch of the manor house. As Mary brought coats and other items from the coach, the turkey meekly followed her, his head bobbing in time with every step and his gobble sounding suspiciously like a dove’s coo.
Mrs. Ellice, full of apologies, watched her turkey docilely follow Mary. “I do not believe my eyes,” she began. “The stories I could tell you about that bird.”
“I think I’d believe anything after that experience, Jane,” Lady Theo laughed as she greeted her friend and introduced Sophie. Mrs. Ellice was all graciousness, welcoming Sophie to Lower Canada and complimenting her on her pretty red dress.
“Come and warm yourselves,” she went on, leading the way to the drawing room. “I’ve ordered hot chocolate to take the chill of the journey away.”
“It wasn’t the journey that made us cold. It was sitting in the coach and wondering if that blasted bird of yours would ever let us into the house,” Lady Theo commented as she warmed her hands.
When a sudden barrage of gobbling sounded from the yard made it seem that the turkey was disputing this, Sophie looked out the window and began laughing again. “Lady Theo, you’ve got to look. Mary must be inside the house or something because the turkey’s got poor Eloise trapped. It looks like she’s on her knees praying and the thing’s just dancing around her, pretending to peck her but not really coming close. I think it’s all bark, no bite.”
“You’re mistaken, Sophie. It certainly has bite and a powerful one at that,” Mrs. Ellice answered dryly. “It kept Lord Durham, the Governor himself, in his coach for more than an hour this past August. It got itself under the coach and wouldn’t let anyone or anything near it. If the coach moved, it merely waddled along. We tried everything. Brooms, waving coats, yelling, even swearing, you name it. Nothing worked. We thought he’d be stuck in his coach forever.”
“Then how did he get out?” Sophie asked.
“Oh, it got thirsty, and just as Edward was about to shoot it, it simply walked off to the horse trough.”
“Why don’t you shoot it?”
Mrs. Ellice looked a little shame-faced. “Because it’s the best entertainment this place has. Life would be deadly dull here without that bird livening things up. I love my husband, Theo, love him dearly, but even he has to admit that the B in Beauharnois stands for boring.”
Lady Theo began urging Sophie out the door towards her bedroom to freshen up. “And to think, child,” she said dryly. “We travelled these fifty miles, were jolted about like sacks of flour for the last six hours, just to be bored in Beauharnois.”
Instead of moving, Sophie stared at a sketchbook lying open on a table. “This is wonderful,” she said eventually. “Look, Lady Theo, it’s the terrible turkey himself. Did you paint this, Mrs. Ellice? May I see more?”
“You’re more than welcome to inspect my dabblings, Sophie.”
“I wish my watercolours turned out like this,” she said, thumbing her way through the book’s vivid images of Mrs. Ellice’s journey across the Atlantic to Beauharnois.
“It’s years and years of practice,” Mrs. Ellice replied.
“It’s more than that, Jane. I’ve had years and years of practice and I still can’t draw a straight line. It’s talent,” Mr. Ellice said proudly, walking into the room and putting an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
“Afternoon, sir.” After dropping a quick curtsey, Sophie turned back to the book. “These are so wonderful. Mine will be never be anywhere near as good as them, no matter how hard I try.” Then she brightened and looked at Lady Theo hopefully. “Maybe you can make Papa understand that he’s only throwing money down the drain by making me take lessons.”
Lady Theo laughed. “In your dreams, Sophie. In your dreams.”
CHAPTER SIX
When Sophie woke the next morning, she saw that the milking process was well under way. Cows milled around the holding pen, bellowing impatiently, while waiting for their turn. Others streamed in a contented procession towards distant fields, their hooves a dark path on the frosty ground. Closer, a dairy hand staggered towards the house with two full pails of steaming milk, and beyond him, to Sophie’s right, a stableboy exercised a large roan horse. In the distance, smoke rose from the chimneys of the village houses, weaving lazy patterns against the pale blue sky.
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