The steely look in Lydia’s eyes was enough to silence the most determined of foes. For just a second the two women glared at each other. Then Mrs Abdale turned away. Busying herself with the dishes on the sideboard she turned her back on her unrepentant niece. In her turn Lydia assumed an air of unconcern as she completed her breakfast before rising to leave the room. Mrs Abdale turned sharply as Lydia reached the door.
‘Aye, you may well leave the room, Miss Barrington – you may as well be packing your trunk, for I want no more of you here. Go where you will – I care not. Try my sister Bridger. She was always as stupid as your mama and may agree to take you in – but as for Abdale House – you are no longer welcome here and the sooner you are out of the way the better.’
Lydia turned to her coldly.
‘I thank you for your advice, madam, which I shall take up at my earliest convenience. I flatter myself that despite her straitened circumstances my aunt Bridger will accord me a much more genuine welcome than ever I have received from you. You are a cold hearted, selfish woman and have raised a devil for a son. You can keep your icy room and your endless little slights. I thank you for the roof – that is all you have accorded me during my stay at Abdale House.’
She swept out of the room with a feeling of wicked satisfaction in her breast. Packing a few personal things into her reticule she swiftly threw the remainder into her trunk and left directions with Sarah for its carriage. There was no time to be lost if she was to catch the morning coach. She achieved the four miles up the road to the Flying Horse Hotel in little more than an hour, there to await the Stagecoach for her onward journey into Town.
Chapter 9Lydia’s journey towards Surrey, accompanied by a last lingering look at Grantham Hall as the horses trotted past, was unseasonably foreshortened in London by an acute shortage of funds. In her hurry to leave Abdale she had thought nothing of her means of travel and by the time the coach jolted into Red Lion Yard her last shillings had been spent on the fare and she was obliged to consider how best to pay for the next stage in her journey. Even worse, by the time the coach had reached its destination it was far too late in the day for her to catch an onward Stage to Netley. There would be nothing for it but to secure a bed for the night in London, and resume her journey in the morning.
Gradually her fellow passengers melted away into the London streets and Lydia was left standing alone in the inn yard, her reticule at her feet. She glanced around uneasily, catching the eye of one of a group of ostlers lounging about in a dirty corner as she did so. Suddenly she felt a little vulnerable. As a young lady, on her own and penniless, in London, she found herself in an unenviable situation.
Having no intention of being accosted by either ostlers or anyone else she picked up her bag and set her sights firmly on the inn’s doorway nearby. At least the innkeeper appeared welcoming. Yes, she could have a room for the night. Would the young lady like to follow him?
Once inside the somewhat dingy room Lydia sat on the bed (it was a particularly uncomfortable affair which depended, apparently, upon a vicious combination of hay and feathers for a mattress, but just at that moment this was the last thing on her mind) and wondered what to do. She had thrown a few items into her reticule before leaving Abdale – perhaps there was something amongst these that could be used to raise some funds? In a triumph of hope over expectation she thrust her hand into its cavernous depths and pulled out everything in turn. The now empty purse - a little pot of cream – some linen – a handkerchief. There was precious little else. Perhaps the handkerchief could be made to raise the required sum? After all, it was a silk one, though sorely crumpled, screwed into a ball at the bottom of the bag. She took it up again and allowed it to unfold. As she did so a pebble-like object dropped out of it and settled itself comfortably within the confines of her lap. Lydia stared at it, puzzled for a moment, until, with a surge of relief, she suddenly realised what it was. Salvation! Looking up at her, glowing softly in the dim light, sat the pearl that Charles had so embarrassingly presented to her only a very few days previously. She had given it no further thought since its somewhat disloyal bid for freedom in the presence of Mr Churchman, and it had remained cocooned within the protection of her handkerchief ever since. The sense of joy was almost tangible. Not only would the pearl cover the cost of her accommodation and fare, there should be something left over with which she could cover her keep at Netley whilst she sorted out a more permanent situation for herself elsewhere.
The next task, of course, was to realise the asset. Much as she would have preferred to hide away in her room she knew that she would have to find some means of selling the necklace – and this meant a venture outside. It was already well into the afternoon and Lydia knew that there was not a moment to lose. Taking a deep breath she exited the inn and hurried resolutely over the currently deserted cobbled yard. She deftly skirted the evidence of recently departed horses and passed quickly through the archway onto the broad paved street beyond. From the silence of the yard she suddenly stood at the threshold of another world. All was a-bustle with carriages of every description, dogs barking, street sweepers, hawkers, traders, urchins, ladies and gentlemen on foot. Here was life indeed! – But there was no time to get caught up in it. Her priority must be to sell the necklace and release some capital – and to do this she must first find a buyer.
She looked about her, hesitating, not certain what to do or where to go, before setting out resolutely in a somewhat random direction on the basis that some activity was rather more likely to realise results than no activity at all. Then, peering down a dark alley opposite she noticed the three brass balls of a pawnbroker’s shop. The very thing! With a sense of immense relief she crossed the street and entered the alley. The store was dirty and cramped but she had no notions to be nice and she quickly stepped over the threshold into the gloom beyond.
The pawnbroker answered her summons, scratching, from a grimy back room and looked at her thoughtfully as she showed him the pearl.
‘It’s not my line as a rule, miss,’ he said, eyeing her plain woollen mantle critically. ‘But give me a kiss and I’ll give you a guinea.’
Lydia gave him a withering look.
‘Come now, my man,’ she countered, in what, in a different situation, might easily have passed as a reasonable imitation of one of Mrs Abdale’s most superior moments. ‘You may take me for a fool if you wish but I know for a fact that this necklace is worth ten times your price – aye, and honestly gained, too, which is more than can be said for the majority of your stock, I’ll be bound.’
The man was evidently taken aback and hurriedly revised his opinion of her.
‘Now then, miss,’ he said, sternly, straightening his spotted neckerchief nervously. ‘I’ll have no such accusations made in my establishment. Why, how am I to know that you yourself is honest? I’ve never clapped eyes on you in my life before and I daresay I shall never see sight nor sound of you again.’
‘As for that,’ said Lydia, secretly acknowledging the likely veracity of the broker’s deductions, ‘you will have to take me on trust, I’m afraid. I should like to make a deal with you, though, if you will only make me a fair offer. Give me eight guineas for the necklace and I’ll be gone and leave you in peace.’
‘You’ll ruin me, miss, that you will,’ the man protested, whilst eyeing up the necklace with more interest. ‘There’s nothing in this shop worth half of what you’re asking for your pearl... but look, see, I’m not a hard hearted fellow – have a daughter myself of about your age – in service in the big house in Netherfield, she is. I’ll tell you what – I’ll give you five guineas for the necklace and risk my livelihood on that.’
‘Six guineas and it’s yours.’
The pawnbroker eyed the pearl as he held it in his hand. There was no doubting its value; it was extremely unusual and its owner was obviously well bred. He looked Lydia up and down and then slowly nodded his head.
‘Very well, young lady,’ he conceded, drawing out a bag of
coins. ‘Six guineas it is. I can’t say fairer than that.’
And so, finally, well pleased with the transaction on both sides, Lydia returned to the Red Lion, bespoke herself a hackney to take her to the Brighton coach office in Piccadilly, and purchased a single ticket to the Smitham Bottom Stage for the early morning coach.
By this time the night was starting to draw in and whilst Lydia would have liked to have taken the opportunity of exploring London further whilst she had the chance, for once discretion triumphed over valour and she made her way straight back to her inn, stopping just long enough for a quick meal of lamb and potatoes before retiring to bed for the night.
The next morning, having paid for her room, she made her way to the Bull and Mouth Inn where the Brighton coach was waiting to depart. She was directed to her seat by the guardsman. She climbed inside the coach and squashed herself between a large, jolly-looking old man who smelled of snuff and horses, and a nervous, wizened little woman in a yellow poke bonnet and voluminous cape, who promised to irritate all her fellow passengers throughout the journey by means of emitting loud, rhythmic sniffs in which she indulged at the rate of two or three a minute.
Luckily for everyone involved, the noise of wheels over cobbles quickly drowned out all lesser sounds as they lurched unsteadily out of the Bull and Mouth yard and onto the Brighton Road. It was an uncomfortable journey which echoed Lydia’s state of mind. She did not relish the prospect of her reception at Netley. True, her aunt Bridger was in a different mould from the Abdales and her invitation to Netley had been warm and sincere. Nevertheless, there was a world of difference between a planned, temporary visit to the vicarage and her sudden descent upon them as a long term guest.
In the event, however, she need not have worried. Scarcely had she set foot outside the vicarage than her aunt, seeing her from the kitchen where she was preparing the dinner, ran out of the house with open arms and a delighted smile on her face.
‘My dear Lydia,’ she cried, taking the reticule and ushering her in out of the cold. ‘I can scarcely believe it – come inside, do, and warm yourself. And are you come from Abdale? All on your own? How is my sister, and Julia and Charles? Thomas – Susan – look who is come. I never would have thought it – and all on your own, too...’
‘Well, here I am indeed, whether you believe it or not,’ laughed Lydia, a little overcome by the warmth of her welcome. ‘Reserve your pleasure until I explain myself, though, for I am come to Netley in deep disgrace and you may yet decide to abandon me in the road!’
Mrs Bridger shook her black curls in denial and turned her sparkling green eyes on her niece. Her husband appeared in the doorway and instantly shook Lydia’s hand.
‘Indeed?’ she quizzed, smiling. ‘And what terrible deed have you done to warrant your sudden dismissal from Abdale House?’
‘I hardly dare tell you – you will be dreadfully shocked, I can assure you.’
‘And yet you look mischievous. Tell me the worst at once, Lydia. I feel it cannot be too grave.’
Her aunt and uncle gave her their full attention as Lydia outlined her situation to them. She tried to minimise the unkindness she had met with in Mrs Abdale’s hands and concentrated instead on the impossibility of her position whilst Charles was in the house. What she did say, though, was quite sufficient for Elizabeth’s eyes to widen in horror.
‘My poor niece,’ she said at last. ‘What terrible treatment you have met with. I am shocked and angry that my own sister could treat you so badly. You were quite right to come to Netley. I am so pleased that you have come. We may not be so grand as the Abdales – we are uncomfortably small, as you know – but I hope we can make up for that by offering you a proper welcome, even if there are precious few luxuries to go alongside it.’
‘Oh, as for luxuries, my dear aunt, why, it is a luxury enough to have a welcome here, I assure you. I am not so grand, I hope, that I cannot survive in a small house. Your kindness is all I could wish for and I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart.’
‘But what was my sister thinking of, allowing Charles to pester you in such a way?’
‘My aunt was much confined to her room – she suffers greatly, as you know, from one thing and another. She could not have been aware of the half of it.’
‘Hmm, she always was the invalid amongst us. I wonder Mr Abdale puts up with it.’
‘It is difficult for them both, I think. Mr Abdale spends a great deal of his time on his estate.’
‘And so Charles was left to worry you. Well, she will miss you, I am persuaded of it, now that she has driven you away.’
Having secured the understanding of both aunt and uncle, Lydia was keen to find out how her sister, Susan, had fared in the couple of months since they had last been together. Susan had taken herself off at the first hint of a visitor but she was soon discovered, shivering, in the tiny garden at the back of the house. Elizabeth went out to encourage her back inside and it was the work of only a very few minutes before she was reunited with her sister, with something of a look of quiet satisfaction on her normally unexpressive face.
Dinner over (though Mrs Abdale would surely have turned up her nose at the thought of the unseasonably early hour at which it was consumed, let alone at the extremely rustic nature of the food itself) Lydia was just assisting her aunt with the washing up when an enthusiastic ‘halloo’ attracted their attention from outside the vicarage door. Elizabeth went to the door immediately, to reveal a shabby, old-fashioned phaeton with leather upholstery and a once-polished body, drawn up in a somewhat haphazard manner in the roadway outside.
‘Why, Sir John,’ smiled Elizabeth, advancing to meet him. ‘I am so glad you have passed by. I have wanted to get over to enquire after Judith for several days – and yet, as you see, other business has so far waylaid me.’
‘My dear Mrs Bridger, you are quite understood. I have seen your husband of late. Learned all the news from him. You are not forgotten, to be sure, even though you neglect us. You ask after Judith – she is no better. No better and maybe a little worse. But we live in hopes, you know, live in hopes. Maybe the better weather may tempt her out. But what’s this? A new face at the vicarage? You will make us known, I hope...?’
‘It is my dear niece, Miss Barrington – Susan’s sister. She is come to live with us at the vicarage. Lydia, may I introduce you to Sir John Ferdinand. Sir John is a neighbour of ours and lives at Netley Court, just over there.’
Sir John took Lydia’s hand in his for a moment and gave it a squeeze.
‘Charming, quite charming,’ he muttered, almost to himself. ‘Hope you will like it here, my dear. Always pleased to see a pretty face. Come to live amongst us, you say? Jolly good, too. Not enough young people here by half, don’t you know.’
‘I feel we are playing our part, with two young ladies at the vicarage, Sir John. I only regret that we have room for no more – I should gladly fill up the neighbourhood else.’
‘Send them over to the Court, my dear. Could do with some company over there. Far too quiet by half, don’t you know. Be delighted to have some guests.’
‘I fear Miss Judith would find the company wearisome.’
‘Aye, she might. Everything’s a strain for her. Can only try to chivvy her along a bit – see if she comes through. Can’t stay sick for ever. Got to pull herself out of it sooner or later, you know. I’ll tell you what – come you all across to the Court for a dish of tea with us tonight. You can see how Judith fares for yourself.’
‘How very kind, Sir John. We should all be most delighted, I’m sure. I shall have to try to drag Dr Bridger away from his sermon - though I’m convinced that the thought of tea will suffice to entice him across the road.’
The engagement made, Sir John whipped up his horse and resumed his journey, seemingly oblivious to the somewhat panicky shouts emanating from a large landau which had been attempting to squeeze past him at that very moment. He continued without mishap, however, and managed to provide what can
only be described as a jaunty wave of the arm as he retreated, with his carriage, into the distance.
‘Miss Judith Ferdinand is in poor health,’ explained Elizabeth, as she and Lydia returned to their washing up inside. ‘Her mama’s death, a year ago, affected her most severely. She succumbed to a most distressing wasting disease for which the doctors can find no cure. She is a charming young lady, for all that, as is her sister, Fanny. It will be good for you to get to know them.’
It turned out that the afternoon’s excitements were not yet over. Hardly had Sir John disappeared into the distance than the raucous clatter of horses galloping out of step reached their ears. As one, Lydia and Elizabeth peered immediately out of the window. The horses were pulling a gaudy Stagecoach, lurching perilously in the ruts in the road. As they watched, the wheelers appeared to crash into each other. The whole carriage lurched to the left and toppled over onto its side.
Luckily a line of trees staved off total disaster by preventing the coach from turning over entirely. Even so, it took the combined efforts of the coachman, those male passengers who had managed to scramble out, and the local blacksmith, who came running over with a pulley (it was obviously much pressed into service for such events), to right the vehicle again. Eventually the vehicle was set straight amidst a good deal of foul language and it jolted off on its way to Brighton at a considerably more sedate pace than before.
It appeared that this same Stage had been the harbinger of Lydia’s trunk, which appeared some time later on the back of a farmer’s wagon. Once safely delivered into the tiny attic that she would be sharing with her sister Lydia opened it and a piece of paper fell out of the lid. It was a hastily scribbled note from Julia. Lydia sat on the bed, a little apprehensively, to read it.
My dear Lydia (it read). Such excitement here as you would never guess. Charles ranted and raved like a madman when he heard you were gone. It was all we could do to prevent him from following you. In the end mama had to threaten to stop his allowance. He went off this afternoon with his friend into Oxfordshire and mama retired to her room with the megrim. I have to go or I shall miss the trunk. Mama has forbidden any correspondence between us so I dare not write again. Regards to all at Netley. Your affectionate cousin, Julia.
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