Lydia was delighted by Fanny’s thoughtful plan. With the proviso that her aunt would not object she immediately accepted the offer and promised to raise the matter with Elizabeth as soon as she returned. And indeed Mrs Bridger required no second asking when Lydia put the proposal to her later that day. She was only too pleased to act as chaperone.
Lydia allowed herself the afternoon of the ball to restyle her sprig muslin gown. There was little she could do with it but at least she could freshen it up with some new ribbons that her aunt assured her were surplus to requirements (but which Lydia strongly suspected had been removed from a gown of her own especially for the purpose). Fanny was only a very few minutes late, warmly wrapped against the cold east wind in a fur-lined cloak and bonnet, and it was the work of only a few minutes more for them to reach the assembly rooms in Reigate, and step inside.
Fanny was as good as her word and introduced Lydia to several of her acquaintance, including the same Mr Wyndham that Elizabeth had teased her about (and indeed continued to tease her about at every opportunity). She did not lack for partners and it seemed no time at all before she was being escorted in to supper. Somehow, though, she could not feel quite contented with it all. Her partners, in the main, were lively and amusing, her aunt and Fanny accommodating, but she seemed to feel detached from the excitement of the ball. Perhaps it was the effort of making the acquaintance of so many new people. Perhaps she was just tired. Perhaps it was Fanny’s obvious pleasure in the company of Mr Wyndham, who seemed to spend two thirds of the evening with her. Whatever it was, Lydia could not in all honesty say that she really enjoyed the ball and she was not at all sorry when it was time to take their leave.
There were no more balls to break the routine at Netley over the next few weeks. Lydia began to settle into a pattern of life in which an occasional foray into Reigate in a spare donkey cart borrowed from Sir John, (during which her aunt had to be forcibly route marched away from the milliners’ shops in case she should succumb to temptation and spend too much) and a twice or thrice weekly visit to Miss Ferdinand formed the chief diversions. She set herself the challenge of instilling the skills of plain sewing into a reluctant Susan. She assisted Elizabeth with the daily vicarage tasks (being so small, the house fortunately took very little looking after) – washing, cooking, baking, planting potatoes and vegetable seeds and caring for the chickens in the yard (although in this task she was generally beaten by her sister, to whom the yard appeared to have become a personal territory, whilst the hens themselves so little appreciated her attention that they had ceased laying for the winter). She accompanied her aunt in visiting the sick and poor of the locality. Sometimes, on a cold, wet afternoon, she would retreat to the sanctity of her attic room and try to concentrate on her literary studies but the constant rumble of traffic on the road, coupled with an annoying tendency for her mind to wander elsewhere, made what should have been the most productive hours perhaps the least productive of them all. Whenever she gave up the unequal struggle (which she did more often than she would care to admit) she allowed her eyes to be drawn to the roadway beyond. The traffic at Netley was particularly heavy, with plodding carts carrying stones from nearby quarries acting as a brake to the impatient coaches from Brighton and the coast. Lydia wondered what the coast would be like. She had seen pictures of it and she longed to see it for herself. And then, just as she became lost in a gentle muse her attention would be caught by the hulking form of Netley Court across the road. She tried not to look at it but time and again her eye was drawn irresistibly towards it. It had a gloomy, almost sinister attraction which filled her with a sense of foreboding which was totally at odds with the warmth of her tiny vicarage room.
The evenings, too, were quiet, if companionable. Whenever he was not working in his little cupboard of a study Dr Bridger would join the ladies in the kitchen and attempt to entertain them with descriptions of the day’s events whilst they sewed, mended or ironed. But life in Netley was not eventful. The highlight of the week was the disappearance of a dog or the purchase of some ribbon in Reigate. Even the rumble of traffic passed them by. Netley was a place to pass through, not one in which to stop.
The lengthening days affected Lydia adversely. Her twenty-first birthday came and went, unmarked except for a small gift from her aunt. News from London told them that the old King had been declared unfit to rule and the Prince of Wales had taken his place. Another London Season was in full swing. Suddenly she was feeling rather old and, looking into the emptiness of the future, the world seemed very bleak indeed.
In this she was not assisted by Fanny, whose obvious happiness in the attentions of Mr Wyndham, while she could not be jealous, did nothing to improve her own state of mind. She could not help thinking about Abdale. She had heard nothing more from Julia, and as Mrs Abdale had not been in the habit of corresponding with her sister (or with anyone else, for that matter) news on that score was not forthcoming. No matter how she tried, no matter how much she berated herself for her ingratitude, somehow she could not feel contented. Her plain sewing was tedious, her studies unsatisfying, her visits to Netley Court an effort. Even poor Judith annoyed her with her never ending lassitude, and Sir John’s clumsy compliments to her whenever they happened to meet were predictable, invariable and unwanted.
One mild March afternoon Lydia, more fretful even than usual, stared out of the dingy window at Netley Court and onto the stables below.
‘You have never shown me your horses, Fanny,’ she said. ‘I would love to see them some time.’
Fanny, as ever, was only too pleased to oblige.
‘Why, of course – we can do so at once, if you would like. Only let me find my bonnet and cloak and we can be out of doors in a trice.’
Lydia joined her in the hall. Fanny had donned a pair of thick pattens and she eyed her friend’s apparel with concern.
‘Will you not get very muddy in the yard?’ she asked, anxiously.
‘No matter. My boots are sturdy enough and I may hitch up my skirt if needs be.’
They made their way round to the back of the building. There was mud everywhere. Lydia gathered up her skirt a little and held it in one hand. Fanny was telling Lydia about her father’s estates.
‘The estates have come to us through several hands and are scattered about the county. Papa owns several farms as well as Netley Court. He finds it a little inconvenient at times but I suppose we are lucky. He spends a good deal of his day travelling between them all.’
‘You must enjoy the riding round here.’
‘I much prefer it to walking. It is more civilised, in my mind, and it is possible to cover much greater distances on horseback, of course. Now, here we are – and here is my mare, Blossom. She is nigh on fifteen years old – she has just got her next set of teeth. I have had her since I was a child. She is a little small for me now although I am fortunate in having grown so little, so we still manage. I should hate to have to part with her.’
‘She is very like the pony I rode at Abdale. She was a friendly little mare - though,’ (reddening), ‘too easily frightened for my liking.’
‘Then maybe we could take a ride out together when the weather is suitable? Papa owns several horses. I am sure we could find one for you to ride.’
Lydia was delighted.
‘There is nothing I should like better,’ she said, ‘although I must warn you that I am only a novice – my lessons were very few.’
‘Then there is all the more reason to practice.’
As they lingered to admire the horses Sir John appeared on the back of a splendid black stallion. He greeted his visitor with a cheerful wave. They waited until he dismounted, Lydia trying subtly to release her hold on her skirt so that it covered her ankle a little more but without dropping right into the thick, gelatinous mud in the yard. Fanny told him of her plan.
‘Absolutely,’ he cried in his warm, rather loud way. He was muddy and red from riding and smelt of horses and sweat. ‘Delighted to accommodate Mis
s Barrington – wish I’d thought of it myself...A novice, you say? Well, old Starlight here is as quiet as any – Judith’s you know. Needs the exercise. Maybe you could try your hand with her? Jolly glad you have come up with it. A bit of exercise. Does young ladies the world of good. Don’t hold, myself, with all this fireside nonsense. Use the pony as often as you choose, my dear. No problem at all.’
Lydia thanked him warmly, trying to ignore the rather overpowering scents emanating from his direction.
‘Don’t mention it.’ He was staring in the direction of her ankles. She tried to lower the skirt just a little more and ended up dropping it into the centre of a particularly noxious heap beside her. ‘The bloom in your cheeks will be thanks enough for me, my dear. You enjoy yourself. Don’t need any more thanks than that.’
Sending Fanny indoors to summon his manservant, Sir John insisted on escorting Lydia to the gate and across the road. He gave her his arm as they waited for the carriages to pass, which surprised her a little, and pressed her hand lightly before he let it go. For a moment the suspicion that he might really hold her in some regard flashed into Lydia’s mind, only to be dismissed with a somewhat shaky laugh and a scolding of herself ‘not to be so stupid – Sir John is being civil and kind, no more. You must not think that every man who smiles at you is in love with you.’ She relegated the thought to the back of her mind, replacing it with plans for amending her riding habit to take account of the coming spring weather, and wondering whether she could get away with sponging her walking dress or whether it would require the full spring clean.
The next few days were cold and wet enough to keep even Lydia safely indoors. On Friday morning, however, the unseasonably wintry weather gave way to a spring day of mild, bright sunshine in a deep blue sky. The sunshine served to brighten Lydia’s spirits considerably and she determined immediately on visiting her friend and suggesting they go for their ride.
She felt pretty in her riding dress and hat and it was with a light step that she made her way across to Netley Court.
‘Miss Ferdinand is in her dressing room, Miss,’ said the servant who let her in, ‘but you will find Miss Judith in the parlour, I think. I will let them know that you are here.’
Lydia made her way to the parlour, but it was empty. She wandered over to the window to wait for Fanny to come down. The minutes ticked by. She looked at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Perhaps her visit was not convenient today, or perhaps the servant had got waylaid and forgotten to tell her of her arrival. She began to feel somewhat uncomfortable and wondered what to do. It would be embarrassing for Fanny or Sir John to stumble across her, not knowing she was there. She had almost decided to let herself out again, and was actually in the process of crossing the parlour to do so, when the sound of voices reached her from the hall and Sir John and Mr Wyndham came into the room.
‘Miss Barrington – what a pleasant surprise.’
‘Aha my dear – well met, indeed. You are come to see Fanny I suppose? Come to do some riding?’ (Eyeing her up and down with evident approval.) ‘Aye, a good idea – make the most of the weather – excellent plan. Wyndham here is about to ride out just now. Fanny just getting dressed. Do you know - have half a mind to join you myself. Hunting over for the season now. Missing the exercise. Aye, I think I’ll do that. Lovely day for a ride. I’ll call the groom...’
Lydia scarcely knew what to think. Relieved that she should not make an unwelcome third in an intimate party, she was not at all certain that she wanted to go riding with Sir John. For one thing, he was such an accomplished rider that he was bound to become bored and impatient within the first few minutes of her mounting the horse. For another – well, it was such an unusual proposition and she was unable to rid her mind of the thought that he admired her – a thought that could only cause concern. The memory of Charles Abdale in remarkably similar circumstances made her blush and cringe at the same time. She could only hope that the outcome this time was somewhat less unpleasant.
There was little point in rueing the embarrassment of her situation – there was nothing she could do about it now. The prospect of a ride must be her solace. She made a mental note to make a firm engagement with Fanny before venturing to ride out with her again.
Sir John and Fanny soon emerged and the whole party went down to the stables together. Four horses were standing already saddled. Lydia was somewhat relieved to find that Starlight was standing quite placidly, despite her apparent lack of recent exercise, whilst the others were whinnying and pawing, obviously eager to be off.
Sir John himself insisted on helping her into the saddle. He held his black horse in check to walk on by her side.
‘You will find me a sadly awkward beginner, Sir John,’ apologised Lydia, trying (unsuccessfully) to laugh a little. ‘I am very much afraid that I will bore you with my slowness.’
‘Nonsense,’ was the loud reply. ‘No need for apologies. Ride nicely for a novice. Good style. Confidence. Straighten your back more and you will be riding like the rest of us in no time.’
‘I had a good teacher, sir,’ she felt constrained to say. ‘He, too, advised me to straighten my back. I made but a poor pupil, I’m afraid. I prefer to look about me than to concentrate on my style.’
Sir John threw back his head and bellowed out a hearty laugh.
‘Your style is well enough, my dear. Suits me very well. Find nothing wrong with you at all.’
Lydia pretended not to notice, although an annoying blush insisted on making its way insidiously up her face. It seemed to give her host a modicum of satisfaction. Finding that they were already at some distance from the others she made no reply, and dug her heels into the pony’s belly, the quicker to rejoin her friend.
Fanny turned and smiled as Lydia approached.
‘Is this not wonderful?’ she asked. ‘I find riding so invigorating that I never want to dismount.’
‘We had thought of going as far as the top of the down, Miss Barrington, if you feel you are up to the ride. It is not difficult, as such, although it can be a little steep in parts.’
Quickly weighing up the evils of a hard ride against those of remaining alone with Sir John she gave a brighter smile than her feelings warranted, and announced gaily: ‘Oh, certainly, I should be delighted to go as far. I am grown quite dull with being stuck indoors for so long – it has been far too wet to venture out into the hills. I will certainly ride on with you if you are happy to put up with my slowness.’
‘That’s the spirit, my dear. Fine ride. Enjoy it very much, I’ll be bound.’
The ride continued inexorably onwards. Lydia was already feeling distinctly saddle sore before they even began the steep ascent towards the top of the hill but she managed to put a brave face on it. And indeed, once they had reached the top she felt a genuine sense of achievement. The view from the top was magnificent, and with the bright sunshine slanting across the heathlands she felt her spirits rise again in spite of the growing sense of discomfort in her nether region. However, her heart quickly sank once more as Fanny declared her intention of taking the long route back home, citing the beauty of the weather as the primary driver for her choice.
Lydia could have hoped for a shorter route home. She had never been so far on a horse before and was seriously concerned about her ability to remain even within earshot of her two eager companions. She hung on grimly. Sir John maintained his position at her side, his mount having worked off some of his earlier energy, and he was chattering away to her quite happily in his particularly inconsequential way:
‘Delighted you feel able to ride so far – very good for a beginner. Netley is a wonderful riding country. Born and bred here myself, of course. Wife was a local girl too, God bless her. Always liked the country. Scarcely ever went to Town, don’t you know...’
Fanny and Mr Wyndham appeared to be oblivious to everything other than themselves and were trotting along contentedly together a little way ahead.
Suddenly, however, Lydia’s pony stu
mbled and it was all she could do to prevent herself from tumbling off its back. She retained her seat and dignity just long enough to dismount without mishap (albeit at a somewhat more accelerated pace than normal), which was fortunate, as Sir John was at her side in an instant and would doubtless have attempted to catch her (with likely dire consequences both for him and for her) had she done so. He bent down to examine Starlight’s hoof.
‘Of all the bad luck,’ he muttered, managing quite nobly to keep back an oath. ‘The animal’s gone lame – too much exercise all at once, I daresay. No, no Miss Barrington – no apologies. Certainly not your fault, my dear – not your fault at all – unlucky thing – could have happened to anyone. But she’s certainly unfit for riding any further. Shocking shame. Err...you may like to ride with me on Warrior, perhaps?’
Lydia eyed up Sir John’s great stallion and shook her head, laughing.
‘There is nothing that would induce me to mount such a brute, Sir John,’ she said. ‘I should be off him before I was properly seated. He would certainly not take kindly to me as a passenger and despite his size he would make a very uncomfortable mount for the two of us! No – pray, do not concern yourself – I am fully able to walk the distance. I shall be perfectly all right, I assure you.’
Acknowledging the unsuitability of his original suggestion Sir John could do no less than remain on foot himself and walk on at her side.
‘Least I can do, my dear,’ he explained, walking rather close to her down the narrow, flinty path. ‘Annoying thing to happen – horse going lame. I hope your day’s not spoilt?’
‘You are all kindness, Sir John. I am perfectly happy to walk. I am only concerned for the pony. I hope she will be all right.’
‘No problem there, Miss Barrington. No need to worry your pretty little head over that. Only sorry to cause you inconvenience. Glad you enjoy a walk. Exercise – good for you. Brings a bloom to that cheek of yours. You must stay the way you are. I need no fireside airs from you.’
Curricle & Chaise Page 16