Curricle & Chaise (21 page)

‘Oh, papa is not the reading kind. I doubt that he has read a book in his life. He is more a man of the outdoors. His main passion is for hunting and riding, like me. In the evenings, though, he tends to come in here and have a smoke in the privacy of his own room.’

Lydia felt that this last piece of information was probably surplus to requirements but wisely kept the thought to herself as they re-entered the hall. They mounted what would once have been a magnificent stairway, its two halves joining in a gallery above. A large porticoed door in the centre of the gallery led into a tall green dining room. Its stucco ceiling, heavy oak furniture and tarnished silverware reflected the tastes of a bygone age. Lydia moved at once to the window. It opened onto a view across the whole depth of the park and over to the hillside beyond. In the distance she could just detect a herd of deer, quietly grazing in the weak winter sun. The three dozen cottages which made up the rest of Netley village (well, more of a hamlet, really,
although it was able to boast a
very fine church for its size) nestled together some way beyond the park, in a hollow, to the South. From this distance they appeared quite charming although Lydia suspected that they may be a little damp.

‘What a pretty view,’ she declared, delighted to have found something that she could genuinely admire at last. ‘I do like to see hills and trees from a house – there is always some change to detect, which maintains the interest from week to week.’

‘I can only agree with you. I know it is unfashionable to think so but I much prefer our country round here to all the dramatic sights of the lakes and dales.’

‘I have never seen the dales. I have been no further than Cheddar Gorge. I recall being most impressed by that, though, and it must be wonderful to see the lakes.’

‘Oh, I should not concern yourself over that. I have been to the lakes a couple of times and found nothing very remarkable in them. I have a much more domestic taste than that. I am not really one for the discomforts of journeying anyway. It is fortunate, I suppose, for papa stays in Netley as much as possible and it would not do for me to be hankering after trips abroad all the time. I usually stay with an aunt in Tunbridge Wells for a few weeks each year. Other than that, and the occasional visit to Town, I remain here, a home bird, in Netley.’

‘We differ there then, Miss Ferdinand. I thoroughly enjoy the stimulation that new places, new events provide. My great ambition is to see the sea. I have a notion that it must be captivating. I find it both exciting and frustrating to know that this very road here leads directly towards it. I have not yet had the opportunity of venturing abroad as much as I should have liked – but I shall do so in the future, perhaps
.
’

The conversation turned to topics of more immediate interest as they completed their tour of the house.

‘Will you be attending the Reigate ball on Monday?’ asked Fanny, opening the door into yet another dusty, darkened room. ‘It is the highlight of the month hereabouts. It would provide an excellent opportunity of getting to know our neighbours.’

‘I had not heard of it,’ said Lydia, privately wondering whether anything in the house had been renewed, or dusted, in the last fifty years. ‘Though I am sure my aunt will wish me to go.’

‘We could go together, if you like. I’m sure that papa will allow us to use his barouche
.
It’ll be the first one that I’ve been able to attend since coming out of mourning
and if your aunt will act as chaperone I could ensure your introduction to the right people when we get there.’

Lydia was delighted by Fanny’s thoughtful plan. With the proviso that her aunt would not object she immediately accepted the offer and promised to raise the matter with Elizabeth as soon as she returned. And indeed Mrs Bridger required no second asking when Lydia put the proposal to her later that day. She was only too pleased to act as chaperone.

Lydia allowed herself the afternoon of the ball to restyle her sprig muslin gown. There was little she could do with it but at least she could freshen it up with some new ribbons that her aunt assured her were surplus to requirements (but which Lydia
strongly
suspected had been removed from a gown of her own especially for the purpose). Fanny was only a very few minutes late, warmly wrapped against the cold east wind in a fur-lined cloak and bonnet, and it was the work of only a few minutes more for them to reach the assembly rooms in Reigate, and step inside.

Fanny was as good as her word and introduced Lydia to several of her acquaintance, including the same Mr Wyndham that Elizabeth had teased her about (and indeed continued to tease her about at every opportunity). She did not lack for partners and it seemed no time at all before she was being escorted in to supper. Somehow, though, she could not feel quite contented with it all. Her partners, in the main, were lively and amusing, her aunt and Fanny accommodating, but she seemed to feel detached from the excitement of the ball. Perhaps it was the effort of making the acquaintance of so many new people. Perhaps she was just tired. Perhaps it was Fanny’s obvious pleasure in the company of Mr Wyndham, who seemed to spend two thirds of the evening with her. Whatever it was, Lydia could not in all honesty say that she really enjoyed the ball and she was not at all sorry when it was time to take their leave.

There were no more balls to break the routine at Netley over the next few weeks.  Lydia began to settle into a pattern of life in which an occasional foray into Reigate
in a spare donkey cart
borrowed from Sir John
, (during which her aunt had to be forcibly route marched away from the milliners’ shops in case she should succumb to temptation and spend too much) and a twice or thrice weekly visit to Miss Ferdinand formed the chief diversions. She set herself the challenge of instilling the skills of plain sewing into a reluctant Susan. She assisted Elizabeth with the daily vicarage tasks (being so small, the house fortunately took very little looking after)
–
washing,
cooking, baking, planting potatoes and vegetable seeds and caring for the chickens in the yard (although in this task she was generally beaten by her sister, to whom the yard appeared to have become a personal territory, whilst the hens themselves so little appreciated her attention that they had ceased laying for the winter). She accompanied her aunt in visiting the sick and poor of the locality. Sometimes, on a cold, wet afternoon, she would retreat to the sanctity of her attic room and try to concentrate on her literary studies but the constant rumble of traffic on the road, coupled with an annoying tendency for her mind to wander elsewhere, made what should have been the most productive hours perhaps the least productive of them all. Whenever she gave up the unequal struggle (which she did more often than she would care to admit) she allowed her eyes to be drawn to the roadway beyond. The traffic at Netley was particularly heavy, with plodding carts carrying stones from nearby quarries acting as a brake to the impatient coaches from Brighton and the coast. Lydia wondered what the coast would be like. She had seen pictu
res of it and she longed to see it for herself
. And then, just as she became lost in a gentle muse her attention would be caught by the hulking form of Netley Court across the road. She tried not to look at it but time and again her eye was drawn irresistibly towards it. It had a gloomy, almost sinister attraction which filled her with a sense of foreboding which was totally at odds with the warmth of her tiny vicarage room.

The evenings, too, were quiet, if companionable. Whenever he was not working in his little cupboard of a study Dr Bridger would join the ladies in the kitchen and attempt to entertain them with descriptions of the day’s events whilst they sewed, mended or ironed. But life in Netley was not eventful. The highlight of the week was the disappearance of a dog or the purchase of some ribbon in Reigate. Even the rumble of traffic passed them by. Netley was a place to pass through, not one in which to stop.

The lengthening days affected Lydia adversely. Her twenty-first birthday came and went, unmarked except for a small gift from her aunt. News from London told them that the old King had been declared unfit to rule and the Prince of Wales had taken his place. Another London Season was in full swing. Suddenly she was feeling rather old and, looking into the emptiness of the future, the world seemed very bleak indeed.

In this she was not assisted by Fanny, whose obvious happiness in the attentions of Mr Wyndham, while she could not be jealous, did nothing to improve her own state of mind. She could not help thinking about Abdale. She had heard nothing more from Julia, and as Mrs Abdale had not been in the habit of corresponding with her sister (or with anyone else, for that matter) news on that score was not forthcoming. No matter how she tried, no matter how much she berated herself for her ingratitude, somehow she could not feel contented. Her plain sewing was tedious, her studies unsatisfying, her visits to Netley Court an effort. Even poor Judith annoyed her with her never ending lassitude
, and Sir John’s clumsy compliments to her whenever they happened to meet were predictable, invariable and unwanted
.

One mild March afternoon Lydia, more fretful even than usual, stared out of the dingy window at Netley Court and onto the stables below.

‘You have never shown me your horses, Fanny,’ she said. ‘I would love to see them some time.’

Fanny, as ever, was only too pleased to oblige.

‘Why, of course – we can do so at once, if you would like. Only let me find my bonnet and cloak and we can be out of doors in a trice.’

Lydia joined her in the hall. Fanny had donned a pair of thick pattens and she eyed her friend’s apparel with concern.

‘Will you not get very muddy in the yard?’ she asked, anxiously.

‘No matter. My boots are sturdy enough and I may hitch up my skirt if needs be.’

They made their way round to the back of the building. There was mud everywhere. Lydia gathered up her skirt a little and held it in one hand. Fanny was telling Lydia about her father’s estates.

‘The estates have come to us through several hands and are scattered about the county. Papa owns several farms as well as Netley Court. He finds it a little inconvenient at times but I suppose we are lucky. He spends a good deal of his day travelling between them all.’

‘You must enjoy the riding round here.’

‘I much prefer it to walking. It is more civilised, in my mind, and it is possible to cover much greater distances on horseback, of course. Now, here we are – and here is my mare, Blossom. She is nigh on fifteen years old – she has just got her next set of teeth. I have had her since I was a child. She is a little small for me now although I am fortunate in having grown so little, so we still manage. I should hate to have to part with her.’

‘She is very like the pony I rode at Abdale. She was a friendly little mare - though,’ (reddening), ‘too easily frightened for my liking.’

‘Then maybe we could take a ride out together when the weather is suitable? Papa owns several horses. I am sure we could find one for you to ride.’

Lydia was delighted.

‘There is nothing I should like better,’ she said, ‘although I must warn you that I am only a novice – my lessons were very few.’

‘Then there is all the more reason to practice.’

As they lingered to admire the horses Sir John appeared on the back of a splendid black stallion. He greeted his visitor with a cheerful wave. They waited until he dismounted, Lydia trying subtly to release her hold on her skirt so that it covered her ankle a little more but without dropping right into the thick, gelatinous mud in the yard. Fanny told him of her plan.

‘Absolutely,’ he cried in his warm, rather loud way. He was muddy and red from riding and smelt of horses and sweat. ‘Delighted to accommodate Miss Barrington – wish I’d thought of it myself...A novice, you say? Well, old Starlight here is as quiet as any – Judith’s you know. Needs the exercise. Maybe you could try your hand with her? Jolly glad you have come up with it. A bit of exercise. Does young ladies the world of good. Don’t hold, myself, with all this fireside nonsense. Use the pony as often as you choose, my dear. No problem at all.’

Lydia thanked him warmly, trying to ignore the rather overpowering scents emanating from his direction.

‘Don’t mention it.’ He was staring in the direction of her ankles. She tried to lower the skirt just a little more and ended up dropping it into the centre of a particularly noxious heap beside her. ‘The bloom in your cheeks will be thanks enough for me, my dear. You enjoy yourself. Don’t need any more thanks than that.’

Sending Fanny indoors to summon his manservant, Sir John insisted on escorting Lydia to the gate and across the road. He gave her his arm as they waited for the carriages to pass, which surprised her a little, and pressed her hand lightly before he let it go. For a moment the suspicion that he might
really
hold her in some regard flashed into Lydia’s mind, only to be dismissed with a somewhat shaky laugh and a scolding of herself ‘not to be so stupid – Sir John is being civil and kind, no more. You must not think that every man who smiles at you is in love with you.’ She relegated the thought to the back of her mind, replacing it with plans for amending her riding habit to take account of the coming spring weather, and wondering whether she could get away with sponging her walking dress or whether it would require the full spring clean.