Curricle & Chaise (2 page)

She stared at her niece through piercing blue eyes.

‘Not but what I expected the situation, of course. Why, as soon as your papa died – such a hapless thing to do, to be sure – I turned to Abdale and told him that I should not know what you would do. I knew you should be destitute eventually.’

‘Indeed, ma’am, you must be right. I am persuaded, however, that papa would have remained with us to this day had he been able …’

‘And then your mama – what could be done for her? – such a shatterbrain as she was – would be having her own way all the time. She could have done so much better for herself had she but waited awhile before marriage (as I advised) but no – even when her mama and her own dear sister (who were only concerned for her welfare after all) would recommend caution the while – not but that my sister Bridger has done much better, but at least she has a husband with her for all that her income’s small – well, see where it got her at last – an early death and two daughters thrust upon the world without a penny to their names.’

Lydia was quite well able to imagine why her mama had been keen to fly the family nest at as early an age as
possible
, with a sister like a
unt Abdale and a dimly-remembered but much feared grandmamma to contend with. She felt
convinced
that she would have
done
exactly the same in her position. She tried to ignore her aunt’s unkindness and bit her tongue sharply to prevent herself from rising to the bait. Fortunately Mr Abdale chose this moment to come dow
nstairs and she was able to direct
her attention to
wards
him
instead
.

‘Why Lydia,’ he said, mildly. ‘How much you are grown from what I remember – quite the young lady, indeed. I hope you enjoyed your journey yesterday – not but what the old carriage is very comfortable,’ he added hastily, glancing sideways towards his wife a little nervously, ‘but my dear wife required the best chaise, you
see
, to go on her visits and we did not know when it should be free.’

‘I can only thank you for sending a chaise at all, uncle. The journey was perfectly satisfactory, I can assure you. If it hadn’t been quite so cold
, and the springs
only
a little less penetrative,
I should even have found it pleasant. As it was, I must confess I was more than pleased to see Abdale House to
mark my journey’s end
.
’

‘Quite so,’ said her uncle, gruffly, ‘and a mightily fine view you will have had, too, I expect. Abdale is much improved since you were here last. We had the grounds landscaped a couple of years ago
– much grander than Grantham Hall
across the way – the shrubbery is quite new, you know, and Mrs Abdale insisted on having a ruin built just to the west of the house – you may see it if you choose to, out of the drawing room window – it looks mighty fine, I can tell you … but no
, (humph)
, you won’t be bothered with that just now. I daresay you have other things to occupy you, as all young ladies have. But make yourself at home, my dear, and be sure to let me know if there’s anything that you need.’

Mrs Abdale looked up sharply from
behind
her buttered eggs and glared at her husband, who happened just at that moment to be looking the other way. Mr Abdale gave a
nother
slight ‘humph’ and busied himself with some cold ham. Lydia followed his progress with her eyes. His powdery cheeks and somewhat flab
by chin reminded her of an over-
fed baker.

‘Your uncle is too generous, Lydia,’ put in his amiable lady, grimly. ‘Although you are to have the privilege of a roof with us here at Abdale I hope you are not thinking of making any other demands upon our generosity. As
you know, you are no longer
mistress in your parents’ home but a dependent relative. You have been thrust upon us without a penny for your keep, a matter of great inconvenience and no little expense for us … no, allow me to continue, if you please,’ (with
a majestic flourish
as Lydia was about to interrupt). ‘Your mama, rest her soul, was not the most prudent of housekeepers and your father’s salary, even in wartime, scarcely sufficient to provide for you. In short, you and your sister have been reduced to beggars. You will expect, therefore, to earn your keep while you remain at Abdale House, and though by necessity you will enjoy the company and companionship of my family you will not think of being treated in any way as our equals.’

Lydia could feel the hairs on her neck rising. She quickly repressed them.

‘I am happy to earn my keep, ma’am. Indeed, I should have expected nothing more,’ and (with a gulp, as the words would stick in her throat). ‘Please assure yourself of my gratitude for offering me a roof.’

‘I will expect you to report to me as soon as I am downstairs each morning,’ went on her aunt. ‘I will issue you with a list of your duties for the day. I am sure that, when you are lacking in any other meaningful occupation, you will make yourself available to assist Mrs Arthur. After all, you will need to earn a living in the world at some stage so it will do you good to learn the basics while you can.’

Lydia glared at her aunt, her chin tilted defiantly.

‘So I am to be treated as a servant, am I? Perhaps you could have made that clear to me before I accepted your offer. I had expected, as a lady and the daughter of your own sister, to have been treated with a little more dignity and respect.’

Mrs Abdale visibly stiffened.

‘Your mama was wayward and so are you,’ she observed, waving a heavy silver knife in the direction of her niece. ‘It surprises me, Lydia, just how like her you are become. In looks you resemble her greatly – those curls are just hers and she was always possessed of that same stubborn look to her eye. Don’t you forget your station, my girl. You no longer have the run of your father’s house (which I always felt to be highly misjudged on your poor mama’s part – but then, she was never of such superior understanding as myself) – and you have no low tradesmen to deal with here. Just you remember how desperate your position would be wi
thout your u
ncle Abdale to protect you – there is no room for proud, wayward airs and graces here.’

‘Wayward airs and graces?’ returned her niece, angrily. ‘Wayward airs and graces? How can you possibly say that I am wayward? I have scarcely been in this house twelve hours and already …’

‘You seem to forget…’

‘I f
orget nothing, a
unt. I would, rather, remind you that – until this very day – I have required nothing of your family in spite of all my troubles. I thought that you had offered me a home as befits your sister’s daughter but I no sooner enter your door than it appears that I am to be treated little better than a servant. Worse, for at least the servants receive some income for their efforts whilst I (I am surely correct to surmise) will receive nothing for mine.’

‘You should realise, Lydia, that your high and mighty ways, which may have served you well when dealing with tradesmen in Bradbury, have no place here at Abdale where your position is so inferior as to make them totally inappropriate. Indeed, I should hope that you might actually appreciate the kindness I have shown you in offering you a home here (with the luxury of which you could scarcely be familiar) by remembering your place from now on. You are here purely because your uncle could not see you thrown onto the streets. In return I should hope for a little respect in future and an acknowledgement of the very great favour we have done you in welcoming you under our roof. All I ask in return is that you undertake some little duties, which will be of no consequence to you at all, in an endeavour to make your residence a little less burdensome to us. I shall tolerate no more insolence from you, Lydia. You would do well to remember that from now on.’

It was no more than Lydia shoul
d have expected. It was beyond a
unt Abdale’s power to be truly charitable. Deep in her heart she had suspected something of the sort all along. The thought flashed through her mind that she should re-label her
trunk and go post haste to her a
unt Bridger in Netley, but this was almost instantly dismissed. Aunt Bridger, although she made light of the fact, was a lady of very small accommodation and even smaller means; she had already done Lydia the kindness of taking her sister to live with her. She could not really be expected to take Lydia too, however
attractive the prospect. Lydia
looked at the cold, proud woman
before her
with dislike. Her aunt was triumphant and preparing for another round with evident anticipation. Lydia smiled wryly
to herself
. If a battle was what she wanted then at least
she could deny her that
.

‘I appreciate
and thank you for
the honour you have done me by taking me in. I thank you, also,
aunt,
for explaining my position in your household so clearly. I will remember it in future and not offer you any further rudeness. Neither shall I again mention the injustice I feel you have done me today. Suffice to say that, had our positions been reversed, and it were my cousin Julia seeking assistance, I flatter myself that she would have been welcomed with much more genuine warmth and sympathy in my parents’ house than I have been accorded today in yours. What I would say is that, whatever my own financial position and however you choose to disparage it, I remain the daughter of parents of whom I am justly proud. No-one, ma’am – not even you – can rob me of my birth.’

With that, she turned haughtily to the door and glided out of t
he room, leaving a discomfited a
unt Abdale behind her.

Although she had managed to hide it quite admirably, Lydia was seething when she returned to her room.

‘How dare she?’ she raged
to herself
. ‘How dare that woman treat me like some shabby beggar off the streets? ‘Wayward airs and graces.’ Wayward airs and graces? Why, she
herself is so full of airs and graces that there’s scarcely room for anything else. Certainly no room for any real love or compassion.  ‘I should show her a little respect’. What, when she can throw her money at fripperies and follies
while her own sister and nieces struggle to survive? Why, mama was worth a dozen of her, in spite of everything, and papa would have offered the shirt off his back to anyone in need. Such kind people, both of them – and both of them taken away. It’s so unfair. Why was it that mama had to die?’

With her rage transforming into sorrow, Lydia suddenly realised the enormity of the change that had befallen her. She perched on the edge of her iron bed, stared into the cold grate, and started to cry. All the traumas of the past few years, her worries about Susan, the uncertainties for the future, the overwhelming sense of loss – everything looked harsh and uninviting. And in the context of her life as a whole Mrs Abdale’s unkindness slowly began to reveal itself as the least of her worries. It had opened her eyes to what she secretly already knew – that life in Abdale House could only be seen as a temporary refuge, that, somehow or other, she would need to make her own way in the world. And whilst the openings available to young ladies of gentle birth and no real accomplishments were unlikely to be plentiful, or their prospect inviting, at least she could make a start by submitting to the regime that her aunt had got in mind for her, and take up opportunities for advancement as soon as they appeared.

She saw nothing of her two cousins that first day. Charles, the elder, was thankfully up in Oxford and his sister Julia was laid up in bed with the headache after her late night the evening before. Mrs Abdale, true to her word, kept her well occupied with an endless array of mundane tasks which (were she to admit it to herself) Lydia quite enjoyed, unused as she was to facing the daylight hours without employment. The next morning, however, as she was concluding a late breakfast after an hour spent sorting dirty linen for the washerwoman, wondering whether she might escape for a few minutes for some fresh air out of doors, Julia appeared at the breakfast room door and daintily stepped inside.

‘So cousin,’ she pouted, seeing Lydia at the table. ‘You are come to live with us at Abdale. I declare you are in the most tremendous good luck. There could be no one room at Bradbury at all equal to even the smallest public room here at Abdale House.’

She delicately helped herself to a morsel of pork from the sideboard. Lydia had to smile. Her cousin had always been acutely aware of the difference in their fortunes. Even as a child she had tried to lord it over her. It was a pity, then, that in looks she took after her father rather than her mama, lacking, as she did, the proud, Roman features of that gentle lady. Instead she had a pretty look about her, with a tiny nose and baby-blue eyes which (much to her mama’s perpetual annoyance) gave her the eager, round-eyed look of a puppy expecting a bone. The contrast with her dark, almost stately looking cousin could hardly have been greater.

‘As you say, Julia,’ Lydia replied, trying not to laugh. ‘Even your parlour is grander than the rooms I was used to at home. Everything is so elegant I am almost afraid to touch anything.’

‘Yes – it has not been decorated but these two years. I helped mama in choosing the upholstery. It took us for ever but I am persuaded that we made the right decision. It was recommended to us by Mr Humphrey, who designed the room for us – and I am inordinately fond of silver and blue.’