Curricle & Chaise (34 page)

‘Well, I’m glad it pleased one of us,’ owned Elizabeth. ‘It did not please everyone at the time, I must say. Nevertheless, your letter was safe with me anyway. I had no intention of handing it over, knowing that there was no way in which you could be even tolerably happy as his wife. The whole idea was ludicrous. How could you expect me to send my niece into a marriage which would have been a disaster from start to finish, purely out of a sense of duty to everyone else? But there would have been little point in arguing further at the time. Had I not suggested the letter you would have refused to go to Brighton, and that would have been a shame. I only suggested it in order to ease your misery over what you should do about your trip...’

‘Aunt Bridger, you are an evil, scheming woman,’ laughed Lydia, flinging her arms around her neck. ‘I shall never be able to trust you again. You are the most totally unreliable messenger I have ever come across.’

‘Ssssch,’ whispered Elizabeth, glancing at the cot. ‘You will teach my babies to despise their mama if you say such things in front of them.’

Lydia cared not, at that moment, for the reputation of her cousins’ mama. She was free of Sir John. There need be no recriminations, no embarrassing retractions – just a straightforward rejection was all that would be required. The relief was overwhelming. Even were she never to see Henry Churchman again she knew that she could never be the wife of anyone else. As she resumed her story to her aunt there were no more descriptions of buildings and views. Oh no. The story now was a lot more satisfying to both. It was all of Mr Churchman – his excellent qualities, his smiles, his immaculate taste, his kind attentions to her and his hitherto unsuspected pugilistic prowess.

The next few days passed without incident. Lydia, half hoping that Mr Churchman might have learned of her return to Netley, thought that he might follow her there but she was to be disappointed. She penned a letter to Mrs Taylor, thanking her for her warm welcome at Brighton and assuring her of Elizabeth’s safe delivery. For the rest of her time she divided her energies between Elizabeth and the babies (all three of whom were certainly very demanding of her attention) and Susan, who appeared to be totally flummoxed by all the changes that were going on.

Having written one letter Lydia was very much surprised to receive another. It arrived on the Monday and turned out not to be from the Taylors, as expected, but from Julia. Julia’s excited scrawl, much crossed, was difficult to decipher but in the end Lydia was able to make out the message reasonably well.

Abdale House

June 1811

My dear Lydia

My fond regards to all at Netley. Excuse the haste of this letter but I have such exciting news that I really have to tell you or I shall burst.

My dear Edward and I are to be married at last. By the time you receive this letter we may already be man and wife, for we go to church on Tuesday at twelve. My excitement, my dear cousin, is such that you can hardly imagine, especially as mama did not like the plan above half at first. It was only
Mr
Churchman’s prolonged absence in Ireland and, latterly, I believe, in London that convinced her that he felt nothing for me and made her and dear papa agree to the match. I convinced them that they would never be rid of me if they refused Edward’s proposal – which he made, quite properly, to papa only a few days ago. We have brought the wedding forward as Edward has need to accompany his mama to Bath and we are to take the opportunity of spending our honeymoon there next week.

Forgive me the state of this letter. It must accurately convey the state of my mind, if not being in the best style. Pray, make my news known to my aunt and uncle in Netley – and may I assure you that I shall always be

Your affectionate cousin

Julia

Lydia’s first thought was for Henry. It had been very evident from his behaviour the previous year that he was totally opposed to any match between his brother and Julia but she had never been able to work out why. She wondered whether the intervening
months had altered his view
. At all events he must certainly accept their marriage now.

Elizabeth, downstairs for the first time since her confinement, was suitably impressed by the news and demanded to know everything possible about Julia’s betrothed. Lydia found it difficult to be candid. Despite his charm she could never feel quite easy about the way in which he had conducted his courtship of Julia. He had certainly felt no qualms about deceiving both herself and Mrs Abdale, and his open manners, though superficially attractive, were just that little bit too familiar to be altogether appropriate. And then, what had Charles said about him? Something about him being quite coarse when there were no ladies present. She had no reason to doubt it. But such concerns were intangible. She had no proof of them herself, and Charles was not the most reliable of witnesses. So Elizabeth had to be content with ‘a very agreeable young man indeed, though not to be compared to his brother,’ interspersed with those remarks about his soldiering career which Lydia managed to drag from the recesses of her brain, when she tried.

‘But what their prospects are I cannot think,’ she concluded. ‘Mr Abdale will be generous, of course, but I doubt that Edward will have much to bring to the marriage. Being the younger son, and horribly disabled, his situation is much to be pitied.’

‘Unless his brother were to help them out.’

‘Of course – but I think that unlikely. From what I could see Mr Churchman did not like the match at all. I don’t think him the kind of man to help out where he does not approve.’

‘But why should he object? Miss Abdale is an unexceptionable match. If anything she could have done better than a younger son, especially one in Edward’s situation. Why should his brother not approve?’

Lydia could only wonder.

‘It is most strange. Julia and I discussed it endlessly at Abdale but we never reached any conclusion. He was certainly most particular in his dislike of it. I am of the opinion that Mr Churchman cannot know of this marriage. Perhaps they think he will accept it once the deed is done.’

Having spent much of the weekend indoors with Elizabeth, Lydia decided to take a walk before preparing dinner. She wanted an opportunity to think through Julia’s news and it was pleasant to take a little exercise after having been cooped up for so long. As it turned out, however, some humid weather made her feel rather lethargic and after about an hour it was quite a relief to turn back to the vicarage once again.

A curricle and pair drawn up outside made Lydia stop in her tracks. She knew the curricle. It was Mr Churchman’s. The feeling of excited anticipation she felt was half delightful, half unpleasant.

She opened the door and stepped inside. Unusually Susan was in the kitchen with Elizabeth. ‘Nice man back,’ she said.

Lydia was completely taken aback. It was highly unusual for Susan to volunteer any information at all, never mind the view of their visitor being a ‘nice man’. But she had also said ‘back’. What ever could she mean? Surely she was not mistaking Mr Churchman for Mr Wyndham? She turned to her aunt, who was concentrating on mending some clothes, and demanded to know what had happened.

Elizabeth looked up at her innocently.

‘We have a visitor,’ she said, somewhat unnecessarily, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘He is with your uncle in the study.’

‘But whatever did Susan mean – she said ‘nice man back’. Surely he has not called here before?’

Lydia flung herself down next to her aunt and took up
some of the mending for herself as
Susan retreated to her usual haunt in the garden.

‘Oh, did I not say?’ replied her aunt, airily. ‘Susan is quite right. He called the very day you went off to Brighton. He was on his way there too, I suppose. He spent much of the time with your uncle – they were talking business for perhaps an hour or so – Thomas has never let on exactly what it was, though I plagued him for ever to try to find out – and then he actually took Susan for a ride. I have never seen her look so happy. She seemed to take to him as much as her sister has done.’

Lydia was lost for words.

‘Well!’ she said. ‘Well.’

‘He had learned of our address from Mr Taylor, I believe. They had met up in London. It seems that they are old friends. Mr Taylor was apparently full of praise for the young lady who had rescued his daughter from the marauding masses and when he mentioned your name Mr Churchman determined on stopping off on his way to Foxwell in order to pay you a call.’

‘So that’s how he knew I was in Brighton. I must confess I was astonished at just how calmly he walked in and said hello – and me in total confusion, myself. I must say you have been extremely sly, aunt. Fancy not saying that you knew him already. And making me describe him to you and everything. How could you stoop so low?’

Elizabeth laughed heartily.

‘It’s been jolly good fun – I don’t know how I’ve kept it to myself for so long. Many’s the time I’ve almost let slip that he called. You were right in your description of him though, Lydia. I have never met a more gentlemanly young man. He had us all charmed by the time he left.’

The sound of the study door opening announced the fact that the business, whatever it was, had been concluded. In another moment Dr Bridger and Mr Churchman appeared, looking well pleased with each other. Mr Churchman bowed over Lydia’s hand as she rose (unsteadily) to greet him.

‘I am come to apologise yet again,’ he began, trying to look as apologetic as he sounded. ‘I regret the ordeal that I put you through last Thursday night, and must apologise most profusely for damaging your cousin in quite so comprehensive a manner.’

Solemnly spoken but his eyes gave him away and Lydia could not resist a little smile in return.

‘On the contrary, Mr Churchman – I owe you a debt for coming to my rescue as you did. I feel no remorse over Charles, let me assure you – you gave him no more than he deserved. He had been most abominably rude.’

‘I’m glad you think so. I regret I forget my strength when riled. You have heard, of course, that the gentleman suffered a broken nose and wrist for his pains? I fear I must learn to conduct myself more soberly in future.’

‘We have discussed your partiality for violence before, sir. You only serve to reinforce my view of you, although I must admit that I feel you were justified in your actions this once. But see – you disappoint my sister, who held you to be most gentlemanly before. She will now change her views after learning how violent you are.’

Susan had reappeared with the gift of an egg (which Mr Churchman took quite solemnly, with thanks) and was looking at him with some consternation.

‘I can only apologise, Miss Susan,’ he said seriously. ‘I am not often violent, I assure you – I am quite the peace lover, in fact, though your wicked sister would have you think otherwise. You will agree, I hope, that it is permissible to fight for a lady’s good name, even though, in general, violence is abhorrent? I do not intend to make a habit of it, I promise. A single incident can be my only defence.’

Susan appeared to be reassured and sat next to Elizabeth in the corner.

‘Lydia has today received a letter from Julia, Mr Churchman,’ said Elizabeth, conversationally, clearing away her work. ‘I understand that congratulations are in order for your brother.’

Mr Churchman looked blank.

‘You do not know? Why, Julia writes that she and your brother are to be married tomorrow. Forgive me, but I had assumed that you were making your way back to Middlesex to be present at the ceremony.’

‘My brother to be married?’

Lydia and Elizabeth were both shocked to see the immediate change in Henry’s demeanour on hearing this unexpected news.

‘My brother to be married – to Miss Abdale?’ he faltered. ‘Surely not – it cannot be. I’m sorry, Mrs Bridger, but I think you must have misunderstood. My brother cannot intend to be married – indeed, it is not so.’

In order to convince him Lydia produced the letter and read out the relevant paragraphs. Henry blanched as he listened.

‘I could not think that he’d be such a fool as this,’ he muttered. ‘It is quite preposterous. But now – Tuesday, you say? – it is only Monday today. If I set out straight away I should still be in time to prevent it...’

He was talking more to himself than his hosts but now he saw their astonished faces and concluded:

‘Forgive me – I am so sorry but I must go to Grantham at once. Pardon my haste. It is a matter of the utmost urgency. I hope you will understand...’

Nobody did understand but he hardly left the time for them to bid him ‘goodbye’ before he was out of the house, summoning his tiger, harnessing his horses and pulling out into the road with the utmost haste.

Lydia, Thomas and Elizabeth were left to look at each other in astonishment.

‘Of all the peculiar things,’ exclaimed Elizabeth, looking to her niece for inspiration but finding none. ‘You were certainly correct in suggesting that he would not like the marriage. Why, no sooner does he learn of it than he shoots off like a mad thing in order to prevent it. I have never known the like, that’s for sure.’

‘It is most strange. We must just be patient, I suppose. Hopefully it will be explained to us eventually.’

No explanations were forthcoming over the next two days. Lydia was living every moment in constant dread of the door knocker. One moment she hoped for Mr Churchman’s speedy return. The next moment she feared the return of Sir John and the awkwardness of the required interview with him. The general air of expectancy which seemed to pervade the vicarage was not diminished by the secrecy of Thomas, who despite his wife’s best endeavours to wheedle something out of him steadfastly refused to reveal a single word of what had gone on between him and Mr Churchman in the study.