Curricle & Chaise (35 page)

It was on the Wednesday that the dreaded knock finally came. The door opened and Fanny’s head appeared round it, closely followed (much to Elizabeth’s surprise and delight) by that of her sister.

‘Fanny – Judith – come in, come in, do,’ cried Elizabeth. ‘What a wonderful surprise – and Judith looking so much better, too. How are you both? You will want to see my babies, I daresay. They form two tiny little bundles, for all the noise they make.’

Lydia welcomed the visitors, with her heart partly sinking to know that they had returned and partly curious to find Judith so much recovered as to be tempted out of doors. 

‘We came as soon as we heard, Mrs Bridger,’ said Fanny. ‘We were so pleased to hear the news. And here is Judith, too, so much better that it is well nigh a miracle.’

‘You are welcome to see the babies, Miss Ferdinand, though I warn you that if you waken them
up
you must set them both to sleep again.’

So, with them all talking at once – of babies, London, Brighton and Tunbridge Wells and none really listening to anyone else – they slipped into Elizabeth’s bedroom where the two babies lay asleep.

‘How tiny they are,’ whispered Fanny, gazing down at the two bundles in the crib. ‘I was never so pleased in my life when Mrs Elrick told us the news.’

‘They were a little in haste to enter the world, but now they are here they seem to find it a wearying place – they spend all their days asleep and all their nights crying.’

‘I shall be sorry to miss them growing up,’ said Fanny, peeping at them once more before tiptoeing to the chamber door. ‘Had I been at Netley Court I should have been over to nurse them every day.’

‘But you will surely visit us a great deal?’ maintained Lydia, somewhat consciously. ‘After all, your papa shall not entirely let you go.’

Here Fanny glanced askance at her sister, a half smile on her face.

‘You won’t have heard the news, of course. It happened so quickly that we have hardly got used to the idea ourselves. Papa, you see, what with the improvement to Judith’s health and the extra society there, has decided to remove from Netley Court and take up residence in Tunbridge Wells. He feels it will better serve Judith to spend her time at the spa.’

To say that Lydia was somewhat taken aback is perhaps an understatement. In fact, Lydia was incredulous.

‘To live in Tunbridge Wells?’ she echoed. ‘But he said nothing of such a plan before...’

‘No, I know. His mind is fully made up, though. He will rent out Netley Court and remain in Tunbridge for most of the time.’

Lydia was astounded that he could act in such a high handed manner without so much as a ‘by your leave’. To totally disregard the common courtesy of consulting her before making up his mind on such an important move – why, she felt acutely relieved that she should never become his wife.

‘Well, I am very pleased for Miss Judith’s sake,’ she managed to say. ‘But I must speak with your father as soon as possible. Perhaps I could return with you now and you can tell me all your news as we go.’

Elizabeth gave her an encouraging smile as Lydia accompanied the Ferdinands out into the warm June sunshine and crossed the road to the driveway at Netley Court.

‘Such beautiful gowns imaginable,’ Fanny was enthusing. ‘Papa has been so generous. I can hardly thank him enough.’

‘You must see my sister’s lavender silk, Miss Barrington. I have never seen anything which suits her quite so well.’

Lydia nodded and smiled in what she hoped were all the right places, though actually she only heard one word in a dozen of what they were talking about. The walk up the driveway seemed endless. She felt like a condemned man walking to the gallows. But at least Sir John’s high handed decision had made it easier for her. He could hardly take the moral high ground with her now.

The gentleman himself was on his way to the stable when they entered the house.

‘Miss Barrington – my girls been over already? Can’t keep you ladies away when babies are concerned. Two of them, too, eh? Wonderful for Mrs Bridger. What did that husband of hers say? Bit of a shock for him, I daresay. And what of my Judith? Never seen her so well. Tunbridge. Wonderful what a month can do. So – come to see me, have you? Jolly good. Step in here. You can talk to me in here if you like.’

She followed him dutifully into the library and closed the door. It
smelt fusty. It
seemed that the place had not been dusted since Sir John had gone away and the air of gloom and desolation that she had come to associate with Netley Court was even more apparent after his time away from home. He indicated a chair and she perched uncomfortably on the edge, wondering how to begin. She hesitated too long. It was Sir John who spoke first.

‘May well hang your head, my dear,’ he contended, peering at her closely. ‘May well hang your head. Jauntering off to Brighton. No word to me at all. Leaving Netley when you knew I was due back. Suppose you want to make up to me now, eh? Want to make out you were dying to return. Only went because you couldn’t refuse your new friend? Well, do your best, my dear. Waiting for your reply.’

Lydia was totally thrown by this sudden change in manner towards her. He was the domineering squire, determined to exert control. The fact that he felt able to treat her like a chattel already, without even waiting for her answer, annoyed her intensely.

She squared her shoulders and looked him coldly in the eye.

‘Indeed, Sir John, you surprise me by what you say. The very fact of your own absence for so long assured me of your endorsement of the trip. I was not to know the date of your return. Mrs Elrick herself did not know it – aye, I did call round to check – and, indeed, I was quite unaware that you had taken control of my movements in quite so single handed a way.’

‘Future wife gallivanting off to Brighton. Not a word for me? You mistake me, miss, if you think I agree to that.’

‘But I am not your future wife, Sir John. You forget that I have not agreed to marry you yet. And what of this decision to live at Tunbridge Wells? You told me nothing of this before. It seems that you have made up your mind entirely on the spur of the moment – again, without the courtesy of any consultation with myself.’

‘Be lucky to have the chance,’ he muttered, sulkily. ‘Thought you would like it. Not every girl who has the chance to be my wife.’

‘Indeed they do not, Sir John, but if they did they may well be advised to follow my lead in turning your offer down.’

It was now Sir John’s turn to look surprised.

‘Turn me down?’ he faltered. He looked as though he could scarcely believe it. ‘Turn me down? No position to turn me down. Babies in the house. No room for you there. Judith recovered – no companion needed. Become Lady Ferdinand. Girls would jump at the chance. No choice but to become my wife.’

Lydia rose, her body taut with indignation. She controlled herself with difficulty. It was only her own notion of being a lady, and the wish not to embarrass her uncle and aunt by being rude to their old friend, that prevented her from entirely shouting him down.

‘I did not come to break a straw with you, Sir John,’ she contended. ‘I have made my position clear to you, I think. May I thank you once more for the honour you did me in requesting my hand last month. I am not insensible to it I can assure you. But it is totally outside my power to accept. I have no fear of losing my place at the vicarage – my aunt and uncle have sworn never to turn me away, be it ever so cramped, and I am not in the market for a marriage of convenience. I need only, now, wish you good day and thank you once again for your kind consideration.’

She glided into the hall with as much dignity as she could muster, leaving Sir John still standing, much astonished, in the dusty gloom behind her.

It was scarcely ten o’clock
the next morning, as Elizabeth, Lydia and Susan were sitting down to breakfast together (Thomas having been out since the early hours, called to the bedside of a dying parishioner), when a sudden exclamation from Susan and a single rap on the door made everyone start and look up expectantly, knives and forks in hand. Lydia could feel a blush on her face and was aware of her aunt’s eyes resting on her hopefully. She quickly took off her apron and hurried to open the door, and in another moment the familiar figure of Henry Churchman was striding inside.

He noticed, but was not embarrassed by, the obvious preparation for a meal.

‘I do beg your pardon for appearing at so uncivilised a time of day, Mrs Bridger. Perhaps you would prefer me to come back in an hour or so, to give you a chance to complete your breakfast...?’

Elizabeth, however, was made of sterner stuff than this.

‘By no means, Mr Churchman,’ she replied, signalling to Lydia to set another place for their guest, ‘unless you would offend me greatly by refusing to join us for our meal?’

Thus pressed, and acknowledging himself to be extremely hungry, having had nothing to eat that morning before setting out from his London house before eight – ‘A totally new experience for me, I confess – I am not normally about until well past that hour’ – Mr Churchman laid down his hat and gloves and stepped up to the table. Elizabeth told him to pull up a chair, which she made sure was squashed nicely between herself and her niece. Susan, indeed, all eyes on this elegant young man who managed to make even an ordinary vicarage breakfast seem all gentility, appeared to be keen on acquiring the privilege of his company for herself and tried to make room for him next to her. A sharp kick under the table from her aunt, however, made her decide otherwise and she contented herself with staring at her hero for the whole of the rest of the meal.

‘I really must apologise to you again for calling at such an inconvenient time,’ said Mr Churchman, helping himself to some buttered eggs (which, much to Susan’s obvious delight, he immediately pronounced to be delicious). ‘But I felt you were due an early explanation for my rather hasty departure the other day, and being obliged to return to Grantham again today I had little choice but to make a ridiculously early start.’

‘Oh, there is no need to apologise, Mr Churchman. You’re more than welcome, I assure you. But we should certainly like to hear what you have to say. As you suggest, we were all rather perplexed by the haste of your disappearance when you came to see us before.’

‘Of course – I am quite aware of it. It is only natural for you to wonder, especially when it concerns a member of your own family. Unfortunately the whole affair is a rather painful one – both for myself and for you. I hardly know how to tell you, but you will appreciate that it is a most serious matter. It was only fortunate that I learned of Edward’s plans in time. For my brother, you see, is not free to marry. I’m afraid that he is already married. He has a Portugese wife, Paula, whom he married after the battle for Rolica. He had been slightly wounded there, and the lady nursed him back to health. Their attachment unfortunately did not last for very long and the lady has remained in Portugal, in her home village, while Edward left to resume the battle for Spain. She is still very much alive, however, and lives with her little daughter – my niece – who was born as a result of the match.’

His words were greeted with silence. It took a while for the awful truth to sink in.

It was Elizabeth who spoke first.

‘Oh my goodness,’ she said, echoing Lydia’s thoughts. ‘How shocking. I have not heard of anything so unforgivable in all my life. And poor Julia – she was so excited at the thought of her wedding – what ever must she be thinking? And my sister Abdale, too – what a terrible shock – her only daughter so nearly entrapped into such a scandalous liaison. What a mockery of a marriage it would have been. I take it from what you have said, Mr Churchman, that you arrived in time to prevent it?’

Henry nodded gravely.

‘I did indeed – though much to the distress of both parties, as you may imagine. My brother is in a state of deep depression and remorse, my mother in a most distressing state of shock – hence the need for my return to Grantham today – I should not wish to leave them a second night on their own. The house is somewhat melancholic, as you might expect. I can hardly imagine the scene at Abdale House.’

‘Well, we certainly appreciate your concern, Mr Churchman. And thank you for taking the trouble to bring us the news in person. It cannot have been easy for you to have to reveal such dreadful duplicity on the part of your brother.’

‘I would rather have avoided it if I could,’ Henry confessed, looking rather sheepishly at Mrs Bridger. ‘I cannot say that the role of harbinger of doom sits comfortably with me. But now it is done and I thank you for your sympathy. If I learn any more on my return to Grantham Hall I will take the liberty of writing to you. But now – see - to reward my devilishly early start I find that I have a spare hour in which to view a little of your delightful countryside. Miss Barrington has told me of it before. Perhaps – if you can spare her for a while - she would be so good as to lead the way so that I may enjoy the best of it whilst I can?’

‘I’m sure that Lydia will be delighted,’ Mrs Bridger replied. ‘Susan and I will manage quite happily together on our own. Perhaps you might like to view the iron railway? I understand that many gentlemen are particularly fascinated by the metal lines and all.’

Breakfast over, and Mr Churchman showing no inclination to linger in the house, Lydia, trembling with trepidation and excitement, arranged her bonnet and spencer and rejoined their visitor in the kitchen. He opened the door for her and followed her out, offering her his arm (which she took). They squeezed past his elegant curricle (which at that moment was being capably looked after by one of the village urchins) and onto the turnpike beyond.