Curricle & Chaise (9 page)

At that moment Charles Abdale moved over to join them and drew up a chair at Lydia’s side. Lydia was annoyed. She was thoroughly enjoying her discussion with Mr Churchman and would like to have been able to take it further, but on her cousin’s appearance he immediately sat back and concentrated all his attention on the music instead. Charles carelessly laid his hand upon hers as it rested on her lap.

‘So, cousin – you are quite grown up, I see, and becoming quite miss-ish, if I mistake it not. It is not many years since you would have boxed me soundly round the ears for teasing you at dinner. I half hoped you would do so tonight, but now you simply blush, and are angry, but say nothing.’

Lydia withdrew her hand and looked at him coldly.

‘I am not so forgetful of my position, Charles,’ she said.

‘And so I see. You are most demure, Miss Lydia – quite the lady, in fact. I shall challenge myself to rouse you during my stay with you this month.’

The challenge in his voice, and the glitter in his eyes as he said this made Lydia shiver. She had no doubt of his ability to distress her. She felt the menace as directly as she felt the heat from the fire nearby.

‘I should rather you remember our situations, Charles,’ she managed to recommend. ‘We are both of us no longer children. We must not treat each other as such.’

‘You are right. I am no longer a child. I am stronger now and will still get what I want.’

‘I say, Abdale,’ broke in Edward, much to Lydia’s relief. ‘I liked that greatcoat of yours. Wouldn’t look half as good on me, of course. Even so, I wouldn’t mind the name of your tailor, if you would oblige some time…?’

A break in the performance prompted some applause and then Lydia found Mrs Abdale urging her to take a turn on the pianoforte. Lydia knew immediately that the request was designed to demonstrate the sorry contrast between her own inferior performance and the (relatively) accomplished one of her cousin. She smiled ruefully to herself. At least the request would curtail her intercourse with Charles. She rose immediately to take her place at the instrument, only to find Edward Churchman accompanying her and suggesting they sing a duet.

Lydia had not downplayed her musical talent, and her lack of application (and recent opportunity for practice) would certainly have revealed itself all too surely had she been left to play on her own. Luckily Edward’s voice was powerful (if not altogether entirely on key) and it served to drown out her barely adequate performance extremely well. After one song Mrs Abdale had suffered enough. With the appearance of the tea things she instructed the not-ungrateful Lydia to quit the instrument and see to her guests. A short while afterwards, with his mother looking extremely tired and drawn, Henry Churchman suggested that it was time they should be gone. It was a dark night and his mother should not over tire herself. And in some bustle in the calling of the carriage, the gathering of cloaks and the final adieus, they were quickly gone, their horses snorting and carriage lamps flaring in the cold night air. Shortly all but Mr Abdale, who had retreated to the library, and Charles, who had returned to the dining room to empty a further bottle of his father’s best port, were retired to bed, with Lydia falling soundly asleep with her thoughts.

Lydia was pleased to see little of Charles the next day. He had always been lazy, and his doting mama had never felt disposed to correct him. His University life had obviously done little to improve him, for the ladies had gone to church and returned before he made his appearance downstairs. Perhaps the final bottle of port had been a bad one; certainly he seemed more inclined to rest his head than to tease his cousin whenever they happened to be in the same room together. It was fortunate, too, that Mrs Abdale also had the headache, for otherwise she liked to have Lydia sitting by her in case she wanted her to read to her. As it was Lydia felt able to retreat into the library for a quiet read between dinner and bed time. The warmth of the fire and the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock there always gave her a comforting feeling of well being and she was able to convince herself (albeit without scrutinising the foundation of this conviction too closely) that she was developing her knowledge for a future career as a governess.

What she did see of Charles, however, she disliked. He was certainly tall, handsome and fashionable, with his dark hair styled
a
la Titus and an aquiline nose, much in the mould of his mother’s, but his air of utter selfishness and the carelessly hurtful way in which he could say
the
most commonplace remark made her recoil from him, and avoid him if she could.

She was therefore delighted and relieved to find no sign of him the next morning, when the riding lesson was due. She could easily imagine his sneering comments on watching the lesson progress. Why, heaven forbid, he might even take it upon himself to join in, purely out of a wish to annoy everybody else.

Julia was looking forward to the lesson with some trepidation. Her fear of horses had not been overcome by her first lesson despite enjoying the close proximity of Edward. But for Lydia the occasion was one of real pleasure. How else could she feel, her spirit free, the air cold and fresh and a greater world than the cosseted space of Abdale House before her, ready to explore? What more could she possibly desire?

Julia’s lot again falling to Edward, Lydia dedicated herself to concentrating on what Henry had to teach her and by the end of the lesson she had improved enough to have the honour of a ride around the park with him. True, her quiet little mare was a good few hands shorter than
the vigorous chestnut stallion of
Mr Churchman but, excellent horseman that he was, he kept his animal tamed in order to remain walking next to her. Julia watched them go with some trepidation, hoping that her mama would not chance to look out of the window as Lydia and Henry rode by. But she felt so little confident of being able to retain her seat around the park, let alone keep up with them, and was, besides, quite happy to remain in the charming company of Edward in the yard, that she gave them no more than three backward glances before they had disappeared out of the stables and around the corner of the house.

At first they talked only of the ride.

‘Remember to straighten your back now, Miss Barrington,’ he corrected her a couple of times; and then: ‘Be careful not to pull on her mouth.’

They stopped by the ruin to take in the view along the valley.

‘I am so fond of the country here at Abdale,’ said Lydia, slackening her hold on the rein for a moment. ‘The landscape is quite charming – do you not think? – with the sweep of the hills and the church down below.’

‘You admire the picturesque?’

‘I do indeed – although not at the expense of utility, I would say. I should admire this ruin more, for instance, were it to serve some purpose – as a cottage, maybe, or even a little school.’

‘The villagers would agree with you there. But in order to be fashionable you must appreciate that it is necessary to spend as much as possible on what is as useless as it can be.’

‘Then I’m afraid I can’t be fashionable, Mr Churchman. I don’t like it, whether it is fashionable or not.’

‘Ha – so you think it extravagant?’

‘I certainly do. Perhaps it is because I have so little of my own, but I cannot abide such unnecessary waste.’

‘I agree with you
, Miss Barrington. I, too, dislike waste – the more so as some poor villagers have had to toil for years in order to accommodate it. Let us reject the ruin, then. I am sure that there are more natural beauties for us to admire at Abdale.’

They nudged their horses back into a walk
.

‘I hope your mama suffered no discomfort from her visit to Abdale on Saturday,’ said Lydia. ‘She is apparently not very strong.’

‘No, she is very well today, I thank you. On some days she is much better than on others. She enjoyed her evening very much, I believe – although I think she would have liked to have had the chance to talk to you rather more. She feels for you, I think – the loss of your father in Portugal echoes my brother’s sad accident in similar circumstances. But then,’ with a slight smile, ‘she has always felt such things most deeply.’

Lydia glanced at his profile and her heart fluttered slightly. There was a firm gentleness about him which she had to admire. The smile lingered on his face for a moment, then was gone.

‘Your mama is too good. I am over the worst pain of my father’s death, although I never tire of talking about him. He was a good man.’

Henry nodded.

‘My father was a good man, too. He cared deeply about the world about him – his land, his villagers – and was very good to them. He was very interested in improving his estate so that everyone could benefit from it, but I know that he would not have liked what is going on at the moment. Progress has much to recommend it – but not at the expense of human misery and suffering. I have tried to model myself on him since he died. I have found it helpful to think of him if ever I’ve not known what to do.’

‘You pay your father a great compliment, sir. It is an accolade for anyone to have someone else model themselves upon them, but more especially, I think, for a father and his son.’

‘It is,’ murmured Henry, looking at her for a moment. ‘We are both fortunate, I think, in having parents whom we respect. It would be utter misery, to me, to feel ashamed of either one of them. Although I was barely one-and-twenty when he died I count myself fortunate that he was able to teach me so much – and his old friends, too, were so very kind as to give me a steer whenever I needed it (which was quite often, I fear, at first). But we talk only of our fathers, Miss Barrington. I know nothing of your mother. Tell me a little about her, so that I may put her into her place.’

Lydia considered for a moment.

‘My mother was unfortunate, I think,’ she said at last. ‘She was not made for a life of want. She was always rather a poor manager, and of course the fact that she had only a very small income didn’t help. She always tried to seem cheerful and contented, more for our sakes than anything else, but it was quite obvious that she was not. My father’s death was the final blow, I think. She became even less well able to cope than before and tended to leave everything to me. It saddens me to think of it. Had she possessed even a tenth of what my aunt enjoys I am persuaded that she should still be alive today. As it is, the constant worry was too much for her. In a way it was quite a release when she died.’

‘And it fell on you to be strong. It can’t have been easy for you.’

‘No, it wasn’t. I’m not naturally a good manager, although I have had to learn to cope. I find application tedious and would much rather have left everything for someone else to do. And my sister, Susan – she is only eight years old. She is a strange, silent child. She has great difficulty in learning anything and appears to be in her own world for much of the time. I worry about what ever she will do in the future. I cannot imagine her ever being able to fend for herself and I cannot expect my aunt and uncle Bridger to grant her a home for life, although I have no doubt of their willingness to do so. Dr Bridger is an excellent parson – he practices what he preaches – and yet the vicarage there is so tiny – just a kitchen and bedroom, really, with an attic and a little study at the back, hardly bigger than a cupboard – yet I have never heard either of them complain. I try to think of them whenever I start feeling sorry for myself – things could be so much worse. And my experience over the past few years will certainly stand me in good stead for my life here at Abdale. Why, how else would I cope with this wretched mare, who insists on going her own way whenever my attention wanders, if I hadn’t become used to exercising my own will?’

‘About as well as your cousin, I should think,’ was the dry reply as he took hold of her rein to steer the pony on its way. ‘As you say, everything is for the best in the end. Your abilities have enabled you to master the animal already - otherwise I fear that I should be heartily sick of remaining within the yard by now. But there – see – we are able to get a view of Grantham as our reward – just direct the rein a little – so – and you should see it through the trees. It is not as fine as Abdale, although until Abdale was built it was generally held to be one of the finest in the district. But I hope you will soon see it more closely for yourself. My mother has asked me particularly to say that she would be most pleased to receive you at Grantham – she does not receive many morning calls, you know, and things get tedious for her at times, being stuck inside so much. Edward and I try to spend some time with her each day, of course, but I am away from Grantham a good deal and anyway, I find that the chatter of her sons is of limited comfort to her – it is female company that she requires. We would both count it a
very
great favour if you would do her the kindness of sparing her a little of your time.’

Lydia was touched by Mr Churchman’s most tender regard for his ailing parent. She knew very little of Corinthians but she felt it rather unlikely that they should care for their mamas in quite so affectionate a way.

‘I should be delighted to visit your mother, Mr Churchman. The pleasure, I assure you, would be all mine.’

‘That’s very good of you, Miss Barrington – thank you. She will be so pleased when I tell her. But now, here we are back at the stables already – and you’ve not fallen off once! I’m sorely disappointed – I had a hankering to see you flung into the mud once more – but I must admit also
to
being quite impressed. Perhaps as your instructor I could claim the credit for your progress...No? Oh, very well, then, I admit it – you have managed magnificently on your own – I have hardly had to tell you anything today. If you carry on improving at such a rate you’ll soon have no need for my services at all – apart from handing you down, of course...’