Curricle & Chaise (8 page)

‘I am only just arrived,’ he announced, somewhat redundantly. ‘I’ll just go and take off my coat and I shall join you again immediately. You may tell Johnson to set another place for me, mama. I am fairly starved, I can tell you. I feel like I’ve not eaten for a week.’

And having disrupted the entire table he left the room, allowing his excited mama to look to his comfort and order some fresh dishes for his return.

Lydia scarcely remembered her elder cousin. From Eton he had gone to Oxford and she had only some very dim memories of him as a youth, none of them pleasant. She could vaguely picture a scene, however, of herself as a girl of about thirteen, visiting Abdale at a time when both her papa and mama were alive. She had been playing in the stables with Charles and Julia when he had cut off the cat’s tail for some imagined misdemeanour. She had watched him with a kind of transfixed fascination and horror. She had wanted to run away but she found that she couldn’t. The cat was squealing in the corner, a trail of blood on the ground. Whenever she thought of Charles she thought of the warm cat’s tail in his hand, trying to make a tippet out of it for her, an
d the sick feeling she had
inside.

It became immediately obvious, however, that Charles had no such feelings about Lydia. As he settled down to his meal his look of admiration and exclamation: ‘How well you have grown from the pale little girl I remember’ were genuine enough and caused her to flush with embarrassment. It was unkind of him – though typical – to single her out in this particular way before guests. Charles only smiled. He seemed delighted with her blush.

‘I see you have not wholly controlled the firebrand in you,’ he sneered. Lydia coloured deeper than ever. ‘I should love to be on the receiving end of one of your sparkling tempers.’

Lydia was distressed. There was an air about the man which she could not like. She applied herself quite fierc
ely to tackling her plate of frui
t, disdaining any reply.

It was Edward who came to her assistance.

‘I must congratulate you, Abdale, on such a splendid family all round. There is your mother here, looking as charming as ever; your beautiful little sister,’ (with a mock bow and a smile for Julia) ‘and your equally charming and delightful cousin. And who have I to look at? My brother, Henry, who is as disagreeable as ever. Why, if I possessed only one of your many delights I should be a happy man indeed.’

Mrs Abdale was too preoccupied with her own compliment to notice the effect of Edward’s final comment on Julia, but her daughter construed his meaning and blushed happily.

‘Yes,’ said Henry. ‘Some of us are luckier than others. But you are not badly done to, Edward. Be grateful for small mercies – at least you do not have me with you all the time.’

Lydia was grateful that Edward and Henry, however unwittingly, had between them defused a painfully embarrassing situation. She felt that Henry shared her dislike of her cousin Charles, and wondered why. What ever the reason, on Charles’ appearance somehow the party seemed to lose its spontaneity, and the conversation fell rather flat. Only his fond mama, near whom Charles had been seated, was scarcely able to leave him alone and took as much delight as Edward Churchman in his account of how, having totally destroyed his rooms at a particularly drunken party, he had just been rusticated from the university a week early in disgrace.

‘You should have seen old Marjorison, though, mama,’ he was saying, helping himself to
the final portion of plums
and washing it down with a full glass of red wine. ‘Under the table before we had even begun – couldn’t take his drink at all, though he is so full of himself…and young Phelps – well, couldn’t touch me – got into quite a humdurgeon about it, I can tell you. Got through a couple of cases of porter between us – got quite bosky, the lot of us, to tell you the truth.’

‘I hope you enjoyed yourself, dear,’ said Mrs Abdale, mildly. She was evidently rapt by all her firstborn had to say.

‘Pretty well, mama – though the dean was in a deuced pucker about it the next day. Threatened to send me down for the term. Got him down to the week, though, in the end – but now I’m not at all certain that I want to go back. After all, it’s pretty dull up there. Should much rather spend my time at Abdale, or in Town.’

Lydia, for one, would much rather have remained in ignorance of Charles’ future plans.

Dinner over, Mrs Churchman rose to lead the ladies into the drawing room. Lydia glanced at her. She was having difficulty in leaving her place. Lydia went across immediately and offered her an arm.

Mrs Abdale gave her
a cutting look, which Lydia chose to ignore. Lydia ought to know her place and wait to be asked before offering to help – it was for Julia, or herself, to care for their guest, not a poor relation, a burden on them all who was lucky even to be included in such an elegant dinner party as this. Lydia, however, failed to read the message and interested herself in her companion instead.

As soon as the ladies had reached the drawing room Mrs Abdale was struck with the happy thought that Lydia must make the coffee. With an agility that surprised even herself, she managed to acquire the seat immediately next to the one taken by Mrs Churchman and at the same time indicate to her niece that she should attend to her own duties and leave their guest to herself.

‘My dear Mrs Churchman,’ she began, all smiles now that she had put Lydia in her place. ‘What delightful sons we both have. Why, if you are half as proud of your two as I am of dear Charles you will be a happy woman indeed…’ Then, as she received no reply to this: ‘You will be interested, I know, in the new paintings we have had hung here since you were last with us. Some of them are quite magnificent. Mr Abdale had Mr Brownlee paint a full length portrait of me only three months ago – it really is splendid, although not quite as like as I should have hoped, but with a wonderful view of the ruin in the background and in the prettiest frame imaginable. The paintings in this room, as you will see, are now all of Abdale. We have moved all the old portraits into the parlour. Some are very fine indeed, although I could have hoped for a larger canvas for some – but there, Julia, my dear, point out some of the best paintings over there – I feel sure that Mrs Churchman will be interested in what you have to say…’

Robbed of their conversation yet again, Mrs Churchman and Lydia submitted to the demands of Mrs Abdale with commendable resignation. Poor Julia was in a more uncomfortable situation. She was a little afraid of Edward’s mama and as she had never taken the trouble to give more than a cursory glance at the new masterpieces on the wall she was not over confident that she would point the right things out. It was lucky for her, therefore, that Henry Churchman appeared in the drawing room even before Lydia had made the coffee, for it put Mrs Abdale into such a flutter of spirits that she completely forgot what it was that she had wanted Julia to say.

‘Well, Mr Churchman, you are eager for your coffee, I see,’ she said instead, ushering him to the seat close by her daughter. ‘You must be quite partial to it, I must say, to leave the other gentlemen so soon.’

If she was looking for a compliment she signally failed to elicit it. Instead, he simply bowed gravely and took the seat indicated, but he remarked enough to Julia about the dinner and the unexpected (and disruptive) arrival of her brother to reassure his fond neighbour that all was still well in that direction.

The other gentlemen appeared within the hour and Mrs Abdale immediately suggested that they might enjoy a little music. Julia was happy to oblige. Indeed, she had prepared her performance in advance, to the extent of having practiced for a full twenty minutes that very afternoon, and took her place at the (rather grand) instrument with only the slightest display of reluctance. Her mama was pleased to note that Henry Churchman immediately took the opportunity of changing his seat to be nearer the pianoforte. Lydia, too, happened to be positioned nearby and was about to make some remark to her new neighbour when Edward
C
hurchman placed himself next to her and demanded some opinion on the song.

‘I am very fond of it,’ she said, surprised.

‘As am I,’ was the reply. ‘It has always been a favourite of mine and Miss Abdale plays with such charm and sensitivity it is a double delight to me.’

‘And yet you prefer to talk than listen?’

‘I prefer to talk and listen to
you
.’

‘You flatter me, Captain Churchman – I’m certain you would rather avoid it, if you could.’

‘No, indeed – you put words into my mouth which I should never wish to say.’

‘Maybe not aloud – but you may think them all the same.’

‘Is Edward to be accused of thinking?’ broke in his brother, leaning over slightly to hear what she was saying above the noise of the piano. ‘I should rather say he had no thoughts in his head at all, than that he thought too much, as a rule.’

‘He should rather be listening to the music – as should we all.’

‘Are you fond of music, Miss Barrington?’

‘I enjoy listening to music, Mr Churchman, although I am not particularly musical myself – I lacked the application as a child and was never encouraged into the habit of regular practice. Unless one is fortunate enough to have an exceptional talent, I’m afraid that practice is the only way to achieve an acceptable performance.’

‘You were too busy climbing trees and getting into mischief, I suppose?’

Lydia laughed.

‘I was indeed. It was much more fun, even if the results were a rather painful beating at times! My childhood visits to Abdale were invariably accompanied by some misguided attempt to encourage me to mend my evil ways! – but regrettably they failed to have much effect. I was always getting into some kind of a scrape or another. My sister, on the other hand, has a more docile disposition than I. She always applies herself as well as she can, although she finds any learning problematic. I more resemble my mother – I much prefer listening to a pleasant tune than struggling with the instrument myself, although I have been known to take the stage when pushed to do so.’

‘Well, at least you are honest, Miss Barrington. I must admit to appreciating good music, myself. I am fortunate in that all my family are musical. My mother was a notable player in her youth, and my great-aunt, who lives in Sussex, would leave me spellbound by her rendition of Beethoven’s Grand Sonata. But tell me, if you did not ride and you did not play, how did you pass your time at home once the tree-climbing stage was passed?’

Lydia blushed as she caught Mr Churchman’s eye.

‘The tree climbing stage has not long gone,’ she confessed, smiling sheepishly. ‘I regret I have always been something of a hoyden and I remain enamoured of the great outdoors. I enjoyed nothing more than to be continually out of the house, walking, running errands for my mother, travelling about, visiting friends – in short, anything that did not involve too much application. Papa almost despaired of me at times, though he did succeed in instilling a love of books in me eventually. It was just as well, really, for at least I had some diversion on rainy days – and on those regrettably numerous occasions on which I had been confined to the house for some particularly heinous misdeed! I had quite a collection of books at home – though not as many have survived as I should like. Unfortunately I was obliged to sell a number of them in order to pay the butcher.’

‘Is Miss Barrington a bluestocking?’ cried Edward, laughing. ‘I should never have thought it of you. Surely you only read what’s fashionable – Mrs Radcliffe’s novels, perhaps, or a little poetry now and again?’

‘Indeed, sir, I do no such thing. I daresay I have read a great deal more than you have. I think it very unkind of you to mock me. Beware, Captain Churchman – should you insist on making fun of me I shall have to reciprocate by finding a laughable weakness of your own.’

‘Now that would not be too difficult, Miss Barrington,’ put in Henry. ‘He only laughs at your learning since he has none of his own.’

‘But I am a man of action, you see. Give me the chase, or a cockfight, any day of the week. Surely any sane man would prefer action to reading.’

‘You are thirsty for blood. I must take care not to tease you too much or you will be hollowing after mine.’

‘You have little to fear from me now, I’m afraid. I can’t even hold a gun any more, let alone spill blood. It is Henry you should be careful of, Miss Barrington. A better shot I never saw in my life – aye, and a great pugilist, too – though he rarely makes use of his skills.’

‘Men must show how clever they are by slaughtering every creature that moves, Miss Barrington. It is great sport. I should not be without it for the world.’

‘You have a cynical air about you, Mr Churchman. I don’t believe that you mean one word of what you say.’

‘But why should I not mean it? Hunting is a tremendous way for we men to show our superiority over everything.’

‘And what of this pugilism, sir? I had not realised what a bloodthirsty companion I have had on my rides.’

‘You would be surprised, Miss Barrington. Though he seems so serious now, my brother was quite a tearaway in his youth.’

Lydia eyed them both uncertainly.

‘I must admit that I find that difficult to believe.’

‘It is true for all that. I regret that – for a very short time, you understand – I did grow a little wild and foolish. I blame my brother entirely, of course, but one winter he managed to get me extremely drunk on some disgusting spirits that were apparently all the rage and persuaded me that it would be a good idea to challenge a prize fighter to a round. In my own defence I would have to say that I distinguished myself particularly well – I must have lasted a good half minute before regrettably passing out. I remember waking in extreme discomfort on the banks of the Grand Junction Canal in Paddington – luckily I had not fallen quite in - somewhat lacking in clothing and without even a penny to get me home. Fortunately I was able to find my way to a friend’s house nearby and persuade the servant to let me in, but the adventure unnerved me so much that I straightway settled down, and have been my normal self again ever since.’