Curricle & Chaise (14 page)

‘I daresay she was feeling the
cold, Julia. I have every sympathy with those who feel the cold, as I do. I am persuaded that no-one fully understands those who are ill as well as those of us who are perpetually ill ourselves.’

A snore broke the silence in the carriage. Mrs Abdale prodded her first-born with the handle of her reticule.

‘And what partners did you have, Julia?’ she enquired, turning back to her daughter again and peering at her through the darkness.

Julia hesitated.

‘I danced mainly with the officers, mama – there was a great number from the barracks tonight.’

‘And what of Mr Churchman – did he dance with you?’

‘Mr Churchman was with his own party all evening, I believe. He scarcely came near us all night.’

‘What is the good of all these visits and dinners if you are not to make an effort, Julia?’ snapped her mama in a most exasperated tone. ‘I thank the lord we are not to
go to the expense of a London S
eason this year if you have not the sense to attach our nearest neighbour when he is there for the asking. I have warned you a number of times – young men are not to be had for nothing you know, Julia. You must really make more of an effort to secure his attention.’

‘It seemed that Mr Churchman had formed quite a large party, ma’am,’ put in Lydia, as the unfortunate Julia seemed (for once) at a loss for words. ‘He was scarcely able to acknowledge his other acquaintance in the room, being so taken up with his guests.’

‘And what is he doing, inviting young females to Grantham with my Julia available next door? Really, young people today – they exasperate me sometimes. Why, had Mr Abdale and I gone on in such a way we should never have got together at all – and then where should we be?’

Fortunately Mrs Abdale appeared not to expect an answer to this observation and the journey home continued in peace, save for the rather noisy snores emanating from Charles’ corner of the landau (prompting some further vicious jabs from his gentle mama’s reticule) and Julia was able to breathe more easily again the nearer they got to Abdale House, and safety.

Mrs Churchman had not been of the party at the ball but a little note arrived at Abdale the next day wishing them the compliments of the season and requesting the company of the whole family, including Lydia, at dinner on Christmas day. Other than the fact that Lydia was expressly included in the invitation Mrs Abdale was delighted, and penned her acceptance immediately. Invitations to Grantham were infrequent, and therefore valued. There was nothing Mrs Abdale liked better than to show off her finery, and her daughter, to her friends.

Christmas morning arrived, cold and frosty, and the whole family drove across to Upnall church. Even Charles went with them, riding his black stallion alongside the carriage, although in Lydia’s mind it would have been better for him to have stayed in bed. Mrs Abdale, indeed, seemed less inclined to say her prayers than to show off her magnificent feathered bonnet and velvet cloak to the admiring locals, and nodding and smiling at the few favoured neighbours considered worthy of such attention (it was Christmas, after all) from her place in the Abdale family pew. By early afternoon they were out in the sunshine again, stamping their feet to wake them up after the chill of the church and waiting for the carriage to be brought back round.

It was not long before it was time to start preparing for dinner. Mrs Abdale retired to her room immediately on returning to the house and Julia followed soon after. Charles, however, held back a little and by means of some successful manoeuvring managed to detain Lydia for a moment in the hall.

‘I will give you this, Miss Lydia,’ he muttered, thrusting an unexceptionable silver chain holding a single pink pearl into her hand. ‘I hope you will take it. I have had it this age – it is no good to me. I had thoughts that it would go with your hair. I am sure it will suit you...’

His own embarrassment was matched only by that of his cousin. She scarcely knew where to look and for an instant had half a mind to return the pearl forthwith. But her hands had accepted it unwittingly and the pearl lay innocently enough in her palms. So decorum prevailed. After all, it would be best to accept the gift with as little fuss as possible rather than risk a squabble in front of the intrigued servants in the hall.

‘You are too kind, Charles,’ she murmured, wondering whatever could have induced him to offer her such an unexceptionable gift. ‘It will suit me perfectly, I am certain of it. I shall try it on this instant.’

She scurried away, deftly managing to avoid Charles’ efforts to clasp the pearl round her neck himself, and made her way to Julia’s room where she had engaged to help her cousin decide what to wear. This was no easy matter. Julia’s wardrobe seemed limitless and it took a great deal of deliberation finally to reduce the choice to two gowns. Julia was inclined to favour an orange crepe creation, richly embroidered at the hem and with a low décolletage, which her mama had kindly bestowed on her that very day. Lydia privately thought it hideous and totally unsuitable for a country house dinner, and steered her cousin towards a more modest but much more becoming apricot silk, with matching spencer and gloves. Even with the choice reduced to two, however, the deliberations continued, almost putting Julia’s maid out of patience with them. Julia was torn between her own preference and her cousin’s. Certainly the apricot silk was very fashionable just now, but the silk had been worn before and the orange crepe had the advantage of novelty. After several false starts involving much trying on and parading regally before the long mirror in her room,
and several changes of mind, she finally agreed with Lydia, and her maid, that the silk was the more appropriate for the occasion. It was a pretty gown, to be sure, and she had a feeling that Edward Churchman had once admired it; certainly he had told her that he was particularly fond of apricot.

‘Then the matter is settled, Julia. After all, why is it that we take such pains over our appearance if not to please our friends? The apricot gown it must be, and if Sarah will press it only a very little it will look absolutely perfect on you, that I can guarantee.’

‘And what shall you wear, Lydia?’ asked Julia, giving one last, hesitant glance to the orange crepe as the long suffering Sarah consigned it to the wardrobe and took the silk away.

Lydia smiled wryly.

‘I fear my choice is a little more constrained than yours. I really only have two decent gowns and as one needs some little repair after its appearance at our dinner the other week I must ring the changes and wear my burgundy silk. It is only a couple of years old – it was the last garment I made before mama passed away – and since I turned the material on coming out of mourning it looks almost as good as new.’

‘La, Lydia, I am glad I am not such a dowd as you – though I suppose you cannot expect anything more. I really couldn’t live without a wardrobe full of pretty gowns – even though it can be difficult to choose between them at times.’

‘But that is where I have the advantage over you, Julia. Having so little choice the decision is made in an instant. I am able to press the creases out myself and am still dressed before you are begun.’

The only factor to spoil the prospect of a glorious evening was the presence of Charles, even more wonderfully adorned than usual in high starched collar, wondrous cravat tied in cascade fashion, and striped satin waistcoat. He seemed well pleased with himself, having spent almost two hours on the manufacture of his cravat alone, and was scarcely able to refrain from asking his cousin what she thought of it. He had sufficient sense to quell the urge, however, and satisfied himself with complimenting her instead. Indeed, having never seen Lydia in her burgundy silk before, he could scarcely tear his eyes away from the lustre of the fabric, and the soft gleam of his pearl as it lay elegantly around her neck.

Mr Abdale, too, was to accompany them tonight but he appeared, much to his children’s indignation, in a decidedly old-fashioned full-skirted coat and knee-breeches, with a collar which had hardly been starched at all.

‘Lord, papa,’ pouted Julia. ‘How can you appear so decidedly out of date? I declare I am heartily ashamed of you...’

‘But what of you, Julia?’ broke in her mama, entering the saloon and spotting her daughter in an instant. ‘Why are you not wearing your new crepe gown? There will be quite a party at the Churchmans’ and I will not have my daughter looking any less grand than the rest.’

Julia looked distinctly unhappy.

‘I thought about it for ever, mama. Lydia and I must have spent half an hour at the least in looking through the gowns before deciding on this one ... we thought it more suitable for the country.’

‘Lydia thought, I daresay. Well, I do not know that Lydia has any more taste than your mama. I had the orange crepe made especially to make an impression, Julia, and I shall not be thwarted by anything Lydia has to say. Why,’ she continued, regarding her niece down the long point of her nose (but thankfully failing to spot the necklace, due to the sweeping folds of Charles’ cravat partially masking her vision) ‘I cannot say that Lydia looks all that fine herself. Go and change your gown this instant, child, or I shall never buy you another one again.’

‘Lydia looks very nice, mama,’ began Charles, as Julia flounced away to get changed once again. ‘I think that particular shade of pink suits her.’

‘Oh fiddlesticks, Charles. If you are not to have a sensible thought in your head I should be grateful if you would keep them to yourself. What does it matter what Lydia looks like? I daresay she was only invited tonight out of respect for me. She is only a poor relation, after all. She looks quite well enough for that.’

Fortunately Charles appeared to have noticed a speck of dust on his sleeve and missed what his mama was saying to him in endeavouring to flick it off. The remainder of the time necessarily spent in awaiting Julia’s reappearance was divided between Mrs Abdale’s anxious glances at the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf and Mr Abdale’s repeated murmur that ‘they should be late, indeed they would, if Julia would not hurry and come down.’

The light was well gone by the time the carriages got underway but the front entrance of Grantham was aglow with the flicker of candles as they stepped onto the front steps. Charles, driving himself in his curricle and pair, had arrived some minutes before the others and strode impatiently inside as soon as the ladies were handed out.

Mrs Churchman, looking frail in a simple muslin gown, received them warmly as they were ushered into the drawing room, with a special smile for Lydia herself. Lydia was surprised at the size of the party assembled there. She counted upwards of a score of people, most of whom she did not know, all looking exceedingly fashionable and elegant. Edward Churchman stepped forward immediately to introduce the newcomers to the guests already there.

‘Mrs Abdale – Miss Abdale – Miss Barrington – may I introduce you to Mrs Smythe-Grey and her daughters – Miss Smythe-Grey and Miss Rosemary...’

Lydia was quick to detect, in Miss Smythe-Grey, the blonde young lady who had so held Mr Churchman’s attention at the Branton ball. She eyed her narrowly as they were being introduced. She looked about twenty years old, of slight build, delicate and pale. A pale muslin gown, exquisitely but simply cut, served to emphasise her slimness. It looked decidedly expensive.

‘How charming to make your acquaintance, Miss Abdale,’ she simpered to Julia, pointedly ignoring everybody else via the simple expedient of turning her back on them. ‘I declare I have been dying to meet you this age – I believe that Mr Churchman may have mentioned you once or twice, (I, of course, am quite intimate with him) and I am persuaded it is a perfect crime that we have never been introduced before.’

Lydia disliked her immediately and, as she had been pointedly ignored by both Mrs Smythe-Grey and her two daughters, felt justified in wandering off to examine some of the many fine paintings on the drawing room walls. No sooner had she escaped the crowd than a movement close behind her made her jump. To her intense annoyance she found Charles Abdale carefully examining the paintings with her.

‘Tell me which paintings I should admire and I will do so at once,’ he whispered, vexing her even more by standing just too close for comfort and laying his hand proprietarily on her shoulder. ‘You have immaculate taste in everything. I would like to be guided by you.’

‘But I am no artist, Charles,’ she protested. ‘Why not just enjoy the paintings you like the best? Even better, you could make yourself pleasant to the other young ladies in the room. You can’t stand with me all night.’

‘Damn the other young ladies,’ he hissed, rather more loudly than Lydia could have wished. ‘And damn appearances, too. I shall stay with you for as long as I like. I am not interested in anyone else.’

To her relief Lydia noticed Mr Churchman making his way towards her from across the room after ringing the bell for dinner. As his eyes flickered towards Charles, who still stood uncomfortably close, he seemed to change his mind and it looked as if he would pass her by without stopping. Lydia could not let this opportunity for deliverance pass her by and desperately blurted out the first words that came into her head.

‘Ah, Mr Churchman,’ she said, stepping into his path and almost forcing him to stop, whether he liked it or not. ‘Charles and I have been discussing your paintings. There are so many fine ones it is hard to select a favourite. Which do you admire the most?’