Curricle & Chaise (30 page)

‘I certainly do. I have never been to Brighton before. Indeed, I had never even seen the sea before we came here. I love everything about it. Though Lucy laughs at me I should be quite contented just to stand and stare at the water for hours.’

‘You have not yet seen it in a storm, Miss Barrington. Now that’s a sight worth seeing.’

‘So I imagine. But I think I should be rather too afraid for the sailors really to enjoy it. I like it best when it is totally calm, with the sun twinkling on the ripples – just the seabirds gliding overhead, and calling, to remind one that there is water there at all.’

‘You are too gentle. You must see it in a storm. Then you would change your mind. The wildness – the raw power of the wind and waves – I warrant it would bewitch you. It can be quite compelling.’

‘I am a peaceable person, sir. I think I shall leave the storms to you.’

They stopped for a moment to watch some little urchins playing with a dog along the beach. Neither Lydia nor Mr Churchman appeared to notice the rather strong fishy odour emanating from a similar direction, although Lucy was seen to hold her handkerchief to her nose in disgust.

‘It looks like they are enjoying themselves with their dog,’ remarked Mr Churchman. ‘I think you, too, have been busy enjoying yourselves since your arrival here. There is never anyone at home whenever I call.’

‘But you never normally call more than once a
fortnight
, and you have called on us this week already. You cannot expect us to wait at home for someone who might never appear.’

Mr Churchman acknowledged the sense in Miss Taylor’s assertion and assured her that he was glad to find them both so fully employed. He then continued with them another half mile before, hearing the chime of a church clock nearby, reluctantly returning to his curricle on his own. As he took his leave he bowed formally over both girls’ hands
and kissed them
, which amused Miss Taylor mightily. Lydia had to pause for a moment before moving on. It was with very mixed feelings that she finally watched him go.

Miss Taylor being in sore need of a couple of new morning gowns to supplement her already substantial collection, she and Lydia set out the next morning to Mrs Hemmingway’s elegant establishment in North Street in order to transact some business.

They found the proprietor completely at leisure. Lucy was an old client and was able quickly to describe her requirements to her. As they completed the details Lucy’s eye was caught by a length of white crepe spangled with gold which was lying on a table in the corner. She rose to take a closer look.

‘See here, Lydia,’ she exclaimed, caressing the cloth. ‘It was only the other day that you were complaining about your lack of a ball gown for the Old Ship assemblies. This material would be just the thing for you – I wonder whether Mrs Hemmingway could make you something out of it.’

Lydia moved across to examine the find.

‘It is certainly very beautiful,’ she admitted. ‘Those gold spangles would shimmer quite brilliantly in the candle light. But I cannot afford it. I shall have to make do with what I have.’

‘It is only a roll end, Miss,’ put in Mrs Hemmingway, rapidly calculating the value of goodwill in the Taylor household (and also, perhaps, realising how perfect an advertisement
for her workmanship
Lydia w
ould represent, with her elegant
figure and unconscious air of refinement). ‘I daresay there would be enough for a Greek-style gown. It’s actually what was left of a roll b
rought in by Lady Micheldever. I believe that s
he has left Brighton now, and she certainly won’t want to take it back. If you would like me to style a gown out of it I will only charge you for the making.’

Lydia’s eyes shone.

‘Would you really, Mrs Hemmingway? That would be wonderful. I have always wanted a Greek-style gown and this would be just the material for it.’

Negotiations
completed, Lydia’s
measurements
were duly
taken
and written down
.
Knowing the perilous
state of her friend’s wardrobe, Lucy very generous
ly
directed
that the spangled gown should take precedence over her own acquisitions
,
and
both girls left the establishment very well pleased with their transactions.

Wednesday dawned bright and clear. Lydia did not care to analyse the feeling of mounting excitement she was experiencing at the prospect of going to Foxwell Castle. Even Lucy, used as she was to grand occasions, was looking forward to seeing the gardens for the very first time.

‘I have heard that Foxwell is exquisite. I have longed for ever to see it,’ she confided to Lydia as the carriage pulled up North Street and onto the toll road beyond. ‘I believe that Mr Churchman owns it, though he allows his great-aunt to live there as if it were her own. It has been her home all her life, you know.’

‘Really?’ Lydia was surprised. ‘I didn’t know that he owned the place.’

‘Oh yes – he is a wealthy man. His house in Town is quite large and in a very fashionable square. I have never visited Grantham but I think that is quite grand, too.’

‘You seem to be great friends with him.’

Lucy reflected for a moment.

‘I suppose I am, though he is more papa’s friend than mine. I was quite surprised when he invited us over to Foxwell on our own – he has never done anything like that before. He has known papa for many years – his own father began the acquaintance and he has continued it. They discuss business a good deal,’ (turning up her nose a little) ‘and talk for hours together quite happily about the war and the government and the King and things like that. I listen to them sometimes but I can’t be interested in politics. It bores me.’

‘Yet it is important to know about it all the same.’

‘I suppose so. I had far rather leave that sort of thing to the gentlemen, though.’

‘And what think you of Mr Churchman?’ Lydia hardly dare ask. ‘You are friends with him now. Would you like to be more?’

Lucy giggled, evidently much amused.

‘Lord, the thought of it,’ she protested. ‘He is not in my style at all, you know – nor I his, I daresay. He enjoys teasing me, to be
sure, but I don’t suppose
that’s much of a basis for a happy marriage. Now, if he were more like Rodney James I may be in some danger. I could lose my heart to a man like that. As it is, he is too serious minded and I am too empty-headed for us to satisfy each other for long. He is the sort of gentleman who would want an equal in a wife, I think. I am happy to have him as a friend – that is quite enough for me.’

It turned out that Foxwell Castle was only a very short ride out of Brighton. Hardly had they reached the downs, through dark woodland which came down to the very roadside, than the carriage turned off onto a broad gravel driveway towards a house as yet unseen. It was Lucy who caught first sight of it. It was standing near the top of a long gentle slope to their left. It disappeared for a moment before reappearing again as the carriage swung round – an old, warm stone, rambling building on two floors. It was embellished with numbers of tall battlements, and arched windows to the ground floor. Lydia gasped in delight when she saw it. It sat in a maturing timber-dotted park with deer grazing in small groups and the South Downs providing an emerald backcloth to the rear.

They pulled up at a tall arched doorway from where a wigged butler escorted them to an empty breakfast room. There were a number of portraits in gilded frames on the walls, while the windows opened one way onto the park and the other onto a fine conservatory filled with exotic plants.

‘What a beautiful room,’ whispered Lydia, shyly. ‘I have never seen anything as elegant in my life.’

‘Does he remind you of anyone, Miss Barrington?’ – Mr Churchman’s deep voice was behind her, directing her attention to the painting in front of her. It was of a stately individual, standing stiffly in a field, gun in hand, a large brown Pointer at his feet. Lydia examined it carefully.

‘I would not presume to say, sir,’ she smiled.

‘You disappoint me. Most people seem to think that he looks very much like me. It is actually a portrait of my grandfather. Unusually, his wife, my grandmamma, inherited Foxwell – there were no living male heirs - and they lived here happily for many years.’

‘I certainly detect a slight resemblance,’ she admitted, eyeing the portrait critically. ‘You are more in fashion, however, than the gentleman in the painting.’

‘I’m glad you think so – though my grandfather was held to be a fashionable man in his day. It’s strange how quickly tastes change, isn’t it? I daresay he’d be horrified to see what we wear today – so very much more casual. But enough of that. My great-aunt is dying to meet you both. If you’ll come this way I should like to introduce you.’

They crossed over the hall and entered a large, handsome drawing room with an open view onto the park. An elderly lady in a neat black cap and gown was sitting in a leather chair in the middle of the room. Another couple of elderly ladies were perusing an album in a corner.

‘Miss Barrington – Miss Taylor – my great-aunt Miss Bateman.’

The old lady rose to greet them in a very kindly manner.

‘You are most welcome, my dears,’ she said, her bright eyes darting from one to the other as they were introduced. ‘I have little enough company these days, except when my nephews come to stay. It makes a pleasant change to have some pretty young faces here.’

‘My aunt thinks that I should live here all the time,’ intimated Mr Churchman, regarding her affectionately. ‘I keep telling her that she would soon tire of having a man about the house making a mess and noise everywhere but she does not listen to half of what I say.’

‘Nonsense, Henry. You know that I would like nothing better than for you to stay here for good. You cannot imagine, Miss Barrington,’ she went on, drawing Lydia towards her as Lucy was made known to the other ladies in the room, ‘how pleasant it is for me to have him at my side ... why, my own son could hardly have treated me better, had I been so fortunate as to have had one...’

Lydia privately decided that she knew exactly how Miss Bateman felt, but wisely refrained from intimating this.

‘Miss Barrington became known to me at Grantham, aunt,’ broke in Henry, ringing the bell for some lemonade. ‘I should never have had the opportunity to introduce you if I stayed at Foxwell all my life. Surely that provides reason enough
to leave you every now and the
n?’

With everyone refreshed, Mr Churchman proposed a general move into the gardens. Several other people were already outside. They passed through a little door at one end of the drawing room and out onto a paved terrace which was bordered by a stone wall with statues, urns, and tubs full of flowers. The terrace overlooked a parterre, with a lawn, which Lucy considered too formal but which struck Lydia as delightful. The whole garden was ablaze with colour – reds, blues, greys and pinks – and scents, all intermingled to delight the senses.

After admiring the view for a while the party gradually split up, Lucy and Lydia finding themselves alone by the shrubbery, others in the party preferring to sit in the shade or explore the park. The shrubbery proved to be a good choice. It was cooler there and provided interesting views of both the park and the castle at intervals through the shrubs. A well worn path led through the thickest areas of undergrowth and out the other side. From there they were rewarded with a fine view of Foxwell with the green downlands beyond.

Their conversation had, until now, been limited to generalities but as they looked at the house they both noticed a parapet leading out from one of the wings, joining with a battlement at the furthest edge of the building.

‘I expect you could get a stunning view from up there,’ said Lydia. She was enraptured by the place and was desperately trying to avoid comparing it with the dreariness of Netley Court. ‘I wonder if it is possible to get up to it?’

‘I’d as
lief
not, Lydia. It is probably not used any more. It looks very old to me. I doubt it would be safe to walk on.’

Lydia was unconvinced.

‘It looks sturdy enough to me,’ she declared. ‘Perhaps if we found Mr Churchman he could tell us whether it is safe to walk on or not?’

Lucy still hesitated but Lydia, fired with enthusiasm, had already turned to find the quickest route back to the house. They came across Mr Churchman in the garden.

‘I wondered where you had got to,’ he said. ‘I was just on my way to seek you out. The parapet, you say? Yes, I should have guessed that Miss Barrington would be drawn to that! It is certainly safe to walk on, if you take care. I can take you up there, if you like. The staircase is a little narrow and steep but I am sure that you will find the effort worthwhile when you see the views from the top.’

Both girls assured him, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, that they felt perfectly capable of managing the stairs. On the way back to the house Mr Churchman had the happy thought that the two young ladies might be interested in Foxwell’s
rather splendid kitchen garden
and led them through an intriguing wooden door into a stone-walled area replete with rows of fruit and vegetables in varying degrees of maturity. All along the northern edge was a vast orangery, filled with exotic fruits. As he explained a little about them Lydia realised that, of all the things that she would most like to learn more about, exotic fruit growing was surely the one at the top of her list. By contrast Lucy, tagging along behind them, had no interest whatsoever in fruit and vegetables (other than in devouring them) but she was gradually realising that the day was intended for Lydia’s benefit rather than her own. She was good natured enough to feel diverted by this, although a little embarrassed, firstly by feeling akin to the gooseberries which at that moment appeared to be providing an enormous source of fascination for her friend, and secondly by discovering that her companions were as unconscious of their
total absorption in one
other as it would be obvious to everybody else.