Curricle & Chaise (24 page)

It was on the journey back home that Mr Wyndham again mentioned Miss Ferdinand.

‘You have become quite firm friends over the past few weeks, have you not, Miss Barrington?’ he asked, casually. ‘From your respective situations you must both count yourselves fortunate to have met up as you did.’

Lydia deemed an enthusiastic response to be in order.

‘Certainly. Though Miss Ferdinand naturally has a good many acquaintance in the neighbourhood there is none as conveniently placed as we are. On my part I think I was never so fortunate in my life. I have still yet to come to terms with the quietness of country life and, admire it as I do, I must confess to a great tendency towards boredom when left much on my own.’

Mr Wyndham laughed.

‘A sad reflection on the joys of country life. I understand you, however. It must be dull for a lively young lady like you to be doomed to life in a small country parish.’

‘As for that, I must say that my uncle and aunt could not have been kinder to me, nor to my sister. No-one could have wished for a warmer reception, despite the precariousness of their situation. I only wish I could do more to be of use to them.’

‘I am sure they do not expect it, Miss Barrington. I have known them since I was at school. Dr Bridger was good enough to try and instil some rudiments of Latin into me during the holidays. I could not have wished for a more patient teacher, though I confess I did not do him justice, I’m afraid.’

‘They are both very good. In spite of their circumstances they are both quite keen for me to remain with them for as long as I like. I really must move on, however. I cannot continue to burden them once the baby has arrived. It is totally impractical. I have spoken to my uncle about finding a position in a family somewhere so hopefully I shall soon be off their hands. But there – enough of me. You were talking of Miss Ferdinand. I suppose you have known her for a good many years?’

Mr Wyndham took up the subject gratefully. ’We have known each other for longer than either of us would care to admit,’ he agreed with a smile. ‘We share a common enjoyment of riding.’

Lydia felt it politic to indulge him.

‘You appear to share a good deal in common,’ she said. ‘You are very well matched.’

‘Do you think so?’ he asked, eagerly. ‘I should like to believe it, but I should appreciate your opinion on the matter. It is very easy, after all, to be blinded by one’s own hopes ...tell me, if you will – does Miss Ferdinand speak much of me to you?’

Lydia gave a little laugh and pondered this for a moment.

‘Miss Ferdinand needs to say nothing of you to give away her feelings for you.’

‘Are you certain of that? Do you really think I have a chance?’

‘It’s not for me to say, sir. You must ask her for yourself. But I am sure she will give you a
fair
hearing.’

For a moment Lydia thou
ght that her companion was going
to drop
the reins and give her a hug. Luckily t
he sudden appearance of a country gig on a particularly narrow part of the road obliged him to concentrate on his driving (it was his new curricle, after all) and by the time he had safely manoeuvred around it he had taken the chance to recollect himself. They came back to Netley without further mishap, where Mr Wyndham dropped her at the vicarage before turning once more on his way.

And so it was that Fanny arrived at the vicarage in a flurry of excitement the following afternoon. Elizabeth, who was feeling a little more the thing (the beef broth obviously having weaved its magic on her), spied her from the kitchen as she hurried across the main road. With an impressive sixth sense she knew instantly that the long-awaited declar
ation had finally been made
. Hugs, tears and laughter immediately ensued. Fanny and Mr Wyndham (despite the latter’s recalcitrant refusal to assimilate his lessons) had both been favourites of the Bridgers since their own marriage had brought them to Netley a dozen years before. The prospect of their union, long awaited as it had been, was guaranteed to fill their friends with joy.

As she left, however, Fanny again put Lydia’s mind into turmoil.

‘Oh, Mrs Bridger, I almost forgot. Papa asked me very particularly to ask Dr Bridger whether he would be good enough to call in at the Court as soon as is convenient. He has some business to attend to, on which he would very much value his advice.’

Lydia was filled with
a sudden, unaccountable sense
of foreboding.  To her mind Fanny had looked a little conscious as she delivered the message
and she felt instantly that this ‘business’ had something to do with her
. She tried to laugh it off by reminding herself that
there would be plenty of other things
at the forefront of Sir John’s mind at such a time as this. Why, he would need to speak to his vicar about his daughter’s marriage – there was nothing more natural than that in the world.

The
se
chastening reminders of her own insignificance failed to do their work, however. She awaited her uncle’s return from Netley Court that evening in a growing state of panic.

And indeed, it turned out that her tumult was well advised. No sooner had her uncle returned than he invited her into his study. She followed him dutifully and clasped the back of the chair for some support. He looked at her thoughtfully. Lydia hoped that her agitation was not as apparent to her uncle as she feared it might be.

‘You know, of course, Lydia, that Sir John asked me across to the Court today,’ he began, offering her the chair (which she took) and (much to Lydia’s consternation) pacing the tiny room himself. ‘He wanted to appraise me of a plan, which he asked me to put to you if I thought fit. I have thought it through and I must say that I find it an excellent solution to the problem of your future which we spoke about several weeks ago. Fanny’s marriage, as you will doubtless realise, will leave her sister very much alone at Netley Court and in grave need of female company and diversion. Sir John has spoken to me about you. He thinks very highly of you, my child, and has identified a plan as much for your benefit as for his daughter’s. In short he has proposed that you move across to Netley Court as a paid companion to Judith, as soon as Fanny’s marriage takes place in July. All he asks is that you spend a few hours each day in her company and try to bring her out of herself a little. Otherwise you would be free to do as you wish. Sir John would expect you to do none of the housekeeping and, indeed, would hope to treat you as a member of his own family. You would be able to ride out, visit us as often as you wish, have a room at the Court which you could use as your own and have the freedom, in fact, to run your life pretty well as you would like. He has offered the sum of fifteen pounds a year, plus your keep. I must say that it is extremely generous on Sir John’s part. I cannot imagine a more eligible situation for you. Sir John will, I have no doubt, treat you most kindly and with the respect you deserve whilst Judith should prove a most unexceptionable companion. He has asked me to put it to you, my dear, and now I have done so – so please, tell me what you think?’

Lydia scarcely knew whether to laugh or cry. On the one hand the dreaded declaration had obviously not been made. This, of course, was a blessing and a relief. On the other hand the solution on offer was scarcely more attractive. Try as she might she had not been able to warm to Judith. The thought of spending several hours a day in her company (or, more accurately, in her presence) was not a happy one, and she would be thrown much more into Sir John’s presence than she would have liked. But her uncle, though she knew that he was trying his best not to force her to do anything she did not wish to do,
was obviously delighted with the idea. Indeed, looked at rationally, it was an excellent plan, ideal in every respect and Lydia was very loath to dampen his enthusiasm with any nagging doubts of her own. To live so close to her family – to have access to them whenever she liked and to have at least an independence of her own – what could she say but that she would be delighted to accept the offer, and try to thrust her personal misgivings to the back of her mind?

Thomas, however, was a perceptive individual. He noticed her hesitation and eyed her narrowly.

‘Don’t feel pressured into making a decision immediately, my child. It is only to be expected that you should want some time to consider it. Sir John does not require an answer straight away. Think it over and then let me know in your own good time.’

Lydia knew that the more time she had to think about it the worse the decision would become. So she took a deep breath and said bravely:

‘Thank you, uncle, but I need no time to think. The situation, as you say, is perfect. Sir John is kind, Judith is in need of some company, I am in need of some employment. I can do no other than accept his proposal with gratitude.’

Thomas continued to look at her. Lydia focused on a loose thread hanging from her shawl.

‘Are you certain, Lydia?’ he probed, removing the thread fro
m her cold hand, which he held
gently. ‘I don’t want you to feel obliged to take the situation just because I have voiced my own approbation of it. It is your future that we are talking about. It is for you, and you alone, to decide.’

Lydia gave a last silent sigh and finally managed to look her uncle in the eye.

‘What can I say? You are too considerate, uncle, and think I see a difficulty where there is none. I am perfectly happy with the arrangement. I cannot think of a better one. You may notify Sir John that I am eternally grateful for his offer and will be happy to move to Netley Court as soon as Fanny is gone.’

Her uncle nodded encouragingly.

‘Then we will say no more about it,’ he said. ‘I am sure that it will work out well. How pleased Elizabeth will be to have you settled at Netley Court. Susan will not lose her sister again and you will be able to visit us and the baby as often as you wish.’

Lydia smiled brightly and rose to go. She felt sick and not a little wobbly but she managed to reach her chamber
without mishap. Susan lay asleep in the bed. She looked down at her fondly. Poor Susan. Life would always be difficult for her, and whilst Sir John’s offer might do little to facilitate Susan’s long term independence at least this way they would not have to be separated again.

Lydia lay down next to her and promptly fell asleep. But it was a troubled sleep in which images of a prison-like Netley Court mingled with a larger-than-life Sir John halloo-ing and waving at her across the panelled hall. Judith, pale and unconcerned, sat netting by the fire, as she always did, but she was working with a poker that she had taken from the grate. It was stormy. Rainwater was pouring in through a great hole in the roof. It started to tumble down the staircase like a river in flood. Lydia was frightened that she would drown. She ran to the door but she couldn’t open it. Sir John was holding the key. A clap of thunder cracked suddenly and deafeningly overhead and Lydia woke with a start, her heart pounding. For a second she wondered where she was. Then she remembered. Susan was clambering over her. A thin light was glowing through the attic window. It was time to get up and face a new day.

Lydia’s first meeting with Sir John was some days later, when the whole family was invited to a dinner party in honour of Fanny’s betrothal. Sir John was not in the habit of sharing his table with others and it was with some sense of occasion that his guests arrived at Netley Court. The party was a large one by Netley standards, with about fourteen, in all, gathered in the saloon. Mr Wyndham, of course, was there, in high style and revelling in the congratulations and attentions of his neighbours. Fanny looked pretty in a pale green muslin robe and slippers. Judith stood in the background, pale and uncommunicative as ever. Lydia went to greet her and stood by her for a while.

Sir John was not one to stand on ceremony and Lydia, she knew not how, found herself seated close to both him and Fanny at the table. She was half diverted and half concerned at intervals by the conversations in which she was obliged to play a part.

‘Be sitting here more often in the future, my dear, eh?’ was her host’s opening gambit as he made sure that her helping of ham was large enough. ‘Pleased to hear it – very pleased. In fact couldn’t be better. Best thing for all of us. Thought it a splendid idea – Fanny’s, you know. Wish I’d thought of it. What think you?’

Lydia tried to smile, and said what was needed. So it had been Fanny’s idea. She should have known. It was just the sort of kind deed that Fanny would do. Then the awful truth
suddenly
hit her - Mr Wyndham must have mentioned her ambitions to Miss Ferdinand, and Sir John’s proposition had been the result. Her afternoon of pleasure on Box Hill was exacting a heavy toll.

‘You are certainly doing us a kindness,’ put in Fanny.

‘Very kind in you, my dear – always kind to Judith. Glad to arrange it. Not every day we can help our neighbours out...’

Lydia had far rather forget about the arrangement if she could. On receipt of a further slice of chicken (the dinner being a plentiful one) she turned the subject and enquired, instead, about the progress of Starlight’s hoof.

‘Ha, looking forward to riding again, I’ll be bound. She’ll do, you know. Better than she was. We shall
have you riding again
soon. You can treat her like your own
, you know
. Happy to ride out with you – can ride out any time.’