Curricle & Chaise

by Church, Lizzie

  The path at that moment becoming steeper and Lydia being obliged to watch her footing on the rough stones she was able to use her concentration on this score as an excuse for ignoring his remarks. Truth to tell, she was not entirely displeased at the circumstances of her forced march as she was feeling quite stiff from riding so far. At least when walking she felt more in control of her direction; she could only wish that she could manipulate the conversation as well.

  It was almost dinner time by the time they reached Netley Court. Lydia left her pony at the gate under the capable care of Mr Wyndham, who had returned to find out what had become of them, and then hurried back to the vicarage, where she knew she would have been missed.

  She entered the door with a sigh of relief and found the whole family in the kitchen. Elizabeth embraced her as she entered, a happy smile on her face.

  ‘Lydia, my dear, congratulate us...the most wonderful news imaginable. It has today been confirmed. I am to have a child. I expect to be confined in the summer.’

  Chapter 11The expectation of a baby at the vicarage made a material change to Lydia’s situation there. For one thing, the extra space necessarily taken up by a baby and nursemaid would have to be found from somewhere and the little house was already bursting at the seams. For another, the cost of food and clothing would place an extra strain on the Bridger finances which, from what Lydia knew of these already, would be difficult for them to bear. She had handed over all bar a few shillings of the money she had obtained for her necklace as soon as she had arrived at Netley but there was no way in which this would last for very long. Once gone both she and Susan must be wholly dependent on her relatives, which she was very loath to be.

  This placed the onus on her to think again about her future. While her kind aunt and uncle were certain never even to hint at it she knew that they must be sorely concerned at the expense of keeping their nieces indefinitely. Lydia herself, failing to settle into the quiet life afforded by the vicarage as she felt she ought, was equally keen to move on. The problem defined, it was a less simple matter to come up with the solution. There were very few options open to her. Susan, she had to admit to herself, was never likely to be entirely self sufficient and this meant that she would need to find some way of earning enough money to keep both of them, and not just herself. On top of all this, the prospect of earning her living in the house of strangers – even if it were possible to save enough for them both, which was unlikely – was not altogether a tempting one.

  It was at about this time, one chilly evening after the day’s tasks were done, that Lydia found herself alone in the kitchen with her uncle. Elizabeth had retired early to bed, tired, and Susan had likewise retreated to the little bed which she shared with her sister. Dr Bridger was sitting by the fire. He was reading a new work by John de Morris which caused him to stop and ponder more than once during the course of an hour. During one such pause his eyes alighted upon Lydia. She, too, was thinking rather than reading, although she held a book in her hands. The glow of the fire seemed unusually absorbing and had captured her attention completely. It was some time before her uncle spoke.

  ‘You are very pensive this evening, my child. Is something worrying you? Forgive me, but I cannot imagine that you find ‘Letters to Literary Ladies’ quite as thought-provoking as it appears.’

  Lydia was roused from her thoughts. She returned her uncle’s steady look uneasily.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am a little concerned.’

  ‘Perhaps it is something I can help you with?’

  Lydia hesitated, but seeing that her uncle had no intention of allowing her to ignore him, felt constrained to explain a little of what she felt. Thomas listened, without interrupting. Sitting quietly in the semi darkness, the glow and spitting of the fire masking the sights and sounds of the outside world, she found herself articulating concerns that she had only been half aware of herself. She could see an empty life stretching before her. She realised that she could not plan on the basis of making a good marriage and yet whilst she was more than prepared to take a position – such as housekeeper or governess – somewhere, she did not, in all honesty, think of herself as particularly well fitted for either situation. ‘So I see myself as heading nowhere,’ she concluded, ‘yet I cannot truly see the way to achieving something with the rest of my life.’

  Lydia lapsed into silence. She had startled herself with what she had just articulated. Thomas, too, said nothing for a few moments and took his turn at staring into the fire. The seconds ticked by steadily. She glanced at her uncle. Although she had not meant to share her thoughts with him she could not help but feel relieved that she had done so. At least he was paying her the compliment of taking her concerns seriously.

  His response, when it came, was as measured and serious as his looks.

  ‘Had your reasoning ended with your initial statements – about not wishing to burden us with your upkeep, and that of Susan – I should have been inclined to ignore you,’ he murmured at last, almost to himself. ‘I could not accept the fact that you represent extra mouths to feed as any reason for allowing you one moment’s concern. Why, common charity would require me to offer a roof to a stranger in need. How much more do I feel for my own nieces? So please, banish all thoughts of being a burden immediately. We are far from being destitute and I have total faith that the Lord will provide for our needs.

  Your other reason, though, is one that I cannot deprecate. It is my firm belief that each and every one of us should feel some purpose to our lives, and find fulfilment in whatever way calls to us. If you feel that you will achieve what you want out of your life by becoming a housekeeper or governess then I should be the last person to stand in your way, whether or not you are ever in a position to care for Susan. But – and please forgive me for what I am about to say – I would never have considered you in that light. I know of very few governesses, to be sure, but I had always thought of them as a particularly quiet and sedate kind of young lady – which you, my dear, most certainly are not.’

  ‘I am not certain – I doubt very much that the occupation would provide me with any sense of fulfilment at all, uncle, and in all fairness I would have to develop my own skills and understanding in order to qualify myself for the work anyway. But what else is there to do? At least I would feel useful, and respected.’

  ‘I understand your feelings, Lydia. You much resemble your aunt, I’m afraid – no sooner have you thought of something than you want to be off, doing it. Have patience, my child. If God wishes you to follow that path he will direct you along it. Otherwise something else will turn up, of that I am certain. I should not want you to rush headlong into becoming a governess when all that would happen is that you replace a life amongst friends with a lonely existence and indeterminate status in the house of strangers.’

  Lydia fidgeted.

  ‘I know it, uncle, and the idea is not a happy one. But what else should I do?’

  Her uncle prodded the fire until it glowed. The embers caved in and formed a new, fiery pattern in the grate.

  ‘A solution will present itself, don’t worry,’ he assured her, his kind brown eyes studying her agitated face with compassion. ‘Promise me that you will do nothing on your own until we discuss the matter again. Sooner or later a solution will present itself and I promise you that I will extend you every support that I am able. Until then, have faith, my dear. Everything will sort itself out. There is plenty of time.’

  It so happened that, not many days after this conversation, Lydia had cause to remember, and rue, the maxim: ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ Elizabeth feeling indisposed, it looked at first as if both Lydia and Fanny must miss the Reigate ball in March. At the last moment, however, salvation came in the guise of a most unlikely rescuer – Sir John Ferdinand, himself, offering to escort the girls in his barouche. He would not go so far as to promise to stand by the wall with them all night but he felt reasonably confident in his ability to assure their safety. Dr Bridger agreed quite
readily to the arrangement, the preparations were quickly made, and Lydia once again found herself heading towards the assembly rooms in some anticipation of the ball.

  Sir John stood with both girls just long enough to see them partnered (Fanny with the ubiquitous Mr Wyndham, Lydia with a somewhat obsequious curate from the adjoining parish) before disappearing into the card room at the rear of the hall. He had squeezed himself into an evening outfit which, from its old-fashioned style and somewhat musty smell, must have last made an appearance at least a decade or two ago and Lydia was a little concerned that its seams would survive the evening. It was after eleven before he finally invited her to dance. That this came as a surprise not only to her but also to a good number of the assembled throng became obvious by the startled hush which unrolled through the room as he led her onto the floor. Lydia was acutely aware of dozens of pairs of eyes boring into her, following their progress as they made their way towards the centre of the room. Sir John appeared to be blissfully unaware of the interest he had elicited. By contrast, Lydia was in an agony of embarrassment at finding herself the focus of attention in quite this way.

  ‘I had not expected you to stand up this evening, Sir John,’ she said, wretchedly, as they awaited the commencement of the dance. ‘I had put you down as a card man through and through. Are you fond of dancing?’

  ‘Dancing? Me? No, never in my life, my dear. Was never one for prancing about, even as a young man. Always preferred horses to dances. Never saw the sense in it, meself. Thought I should give it a try though – can’t lose at cards all evening.’

  ‘You have had little luck on the card table, then?’

  ‘Luck? Aye, as little luck as usual. Mind you – know the old expression – unlucky at cards, eh? Maybe my luck will be in even if I do lose at cards?’

  Lydia chose not to understand him, eyeing him miserably as he fumbled and stumbled through the opening set.

  ‘I see you are unfamiliar with the steps,’ she mumbled. ‘You will find this pattern a complicated one, I fear. Our neighbours will think the worst of you if you fail to fall into line.’

  ‘Think the worst, my dear?’ with a hearty laugh. ‘More like think the best, I’d say.’

  ‘But they will not thank you for leading them astray.’

  ‘More fool them for following me, then. Everyone knows I don’t dance. No need to pretend – begging your pardon, ma’am,’ as he trod heavily upon a lady’s slipper, ‘- we don’t presume to be high and mighty here.’

  For some reason best known to himself Sir John had decided to complete his outfit that night with a broad, sky blue cummerbund tied tightly round his waist. It was unfortunate that, in so doing, he had lacked the foresight to consider its likely response to the demands of a dance. As the patterns of the set continued Lydia found that her attention was caught by some unexpected movement within said garment, which appeared to be unravelling before her eyes. She stared at it in unmitigated horror. Oh dear! Slowly but surely, unravelling it most certainly was. Finally proving unequal to the strain, the cummerbund suddenly released its final coil and slithered silently, treacherously and snake-like to the ground.

  On top of the excruciating embarrassment of having, in Sir John, a partner who knew nothing of what he was about, and who stopped in mid step to retrieve his garment from the floor and did not care that he sent the whole set astray, Lydia had the added concern that he had singled her out, and her alone, for a dance. His attentions to her were becoming such that they could hardly be ignored and it was becoming impossible for her to pretend to herself that he was only being kind. She dreaded the possibility that he might make a declaration of love to her, for while she did not dislike him as her friend’s father, the thought of becoming anything more to him repelled her. To be the wife of Sir John Ferdinand – to suffer his smoking in the library each night – the smell of horses (and worse) as he came in from riding – his loud voice and louder manners – and to live at Netley Court, living museum as it was. Lydia shuddered at the thought. She must try to avoid any declaration, if she could. Suddenly the thought of becoming a governess and fleeing far away revealed some hitherto unthought-of advantages.

  It was perhaps due to her fear of encountering Sir John that Lydia avoided her usual visits to Netley Court for the next few days. She busied herself with her usual tasks about the vicarage and, when she could (or, rather, when she could face it) by resuming her somewhat half hearted studies. A visit could not be put off for ever, though. A parishioner had brought Elizabeth a large helping of beef broth in recognition of her delicate situation, and after consuming as much of it as they wished at the vicarage she had instructed Lydia to take the remainder to the Ferdinands’ in the hope of tempting Miss Judith to try it.

  As she made her way up the gravel driveway Lydia was surprised to see a very smart curricle and pair at the front door. Apart from herself the Ferdinands generally had very few visitors, and certainly none who were likely to own an equipage like this one. However, as she got closer she recognised Mr Wyndham’s tiger at the horses’ mouths. Lydia caught up with his master in the hallway.

  ‘I am distraught,’ he confessed, as Lydia handed the broth to the servant. ‘Here am I, with my brand new vehicle, and nobody to admire it. I had hoped to take Miss Ferdinand out for a drive in the country, only to be told that she has gone for the day to see a school friend at Red Hill.’

  They walked out of the hallway together. Mr Wyndham eyed his curricle ruefully. Then a happy thought occurred to him.

  ‘I don’t suppose that you would care to accompany me for an hour, would you, Miss Barrington? I shall drive most carefully, I can assure you, and I shall try not to bore you too much – though I shall demand your opinion of the vehicle as soon as we are underway, in payment.’

  Fighting back a slight feeling of mortification at merely being a substitute for her more fortunate friend, Lydia accepted the invitation with only a moment’s hesitation and allowed herself to be assisted up the step before settling down to enjoy the unexpected ride.

  And indeed, as the curricle was deftly turned on the crunching drive towards the Brighton Road she was aware of a feeling of intense pleasure for the first time in several weeks. She couldn’t help but remember the last time she had partnered a companion in a curricle. For a moment she could almost fancy herself with Mr Churchman, driving back from Grantham Hall. Dangerous thoughts. She endeavoured to banish their bitter sweetness to the back of her mind and enjoy the moment that had been given to her. There was a fresh breeze and patchy sunshine and the rhythm of the well-matched horses was both exhilarating and soothing. She said as much to her companion, remembering, too, to add some fulsome praise of the equipage itself, as required.

  ‘I am pleased to hear it,’ he replied in return. ‘And I am honoured that you trust me enough to drive you. It is not every young lady who would be so adventurous, I can assure you.’

  ‘As for your driving,’ replied Lydia, airily. ‘I feel perfectly confident in your abilities, Mr Wyndham. You are giving me no cause for alarm and are providing a very smooth – and very beautiful - ride. ‘

  ‘We are heading towards Box Hill,’ he explained, turning off the turnpike near Reigate and negotiating a winding trackway away from the town. ‘Enamoured of magnificent views, as I know you are, I thought that you would certainly enjoy this one.’

  He negotiated a particularly tight bend with some skill (much to the admiration of his tiger, who yelled an appreciative expletive from the rear of the conveyance). Lydia was enjoying herself exceedingly. As they reached the top they emerged into a burst of sunshine, some fluffy clouds scurrying along nearby. She gazed down at the tiny buildings a long way below. Sheep were grazing in the fields, a shepherd nearby. She turned towards her companion brightly.

  ‘What a treat,’ she said. ‘I have never seen such a view as this in all my life. It is totally magnificent.’

  Mr Wyndham was well pleased with her obvious delight and offered to hand her down for a
short ramble along the hilltop. He obliged her by pointing out the various landmarks. He assisted her when the path grew too steep. Despite her enjoyment Lydia could not help but sigh a little to herself. Her companion would far rather she had been someone else, and she had to admit that the feeling was mutual. Charming and agreeable as he was, Mr Wyndham would not have been her choice. If only it were Mr Churchman, walking at her side, making himself agreeable, helping her down the slope – how wonderful would that have been? She tried to dismiss the thought at once and sharply told herself not to be so stupid. Her companion was not Mr Churchman. She had neither heard from nor of him since leaving Abdale. He had obviously made no attempt to find her. And why should he? She had been insufferably rude to him on the occasion of their last meeting. As far as he was aware she had allied herself to Charles. Even should he subsequently have been disabused of this it would be natural for him to believe that she had, in some way, been to blame.

  It was on the journey back home that Mr Wyndham again mentioned Miss Ferdinand.

  ‘You have become quite firm friends over the past few weeks, have you not, Miss Barrington?’ he asked, casually. ‘From your respective situations you must both count yourselves fortunate to have met up as you did.’

  Lydia deemed an enthusiastic response to be in order.

  ‘Certainly. Though Miss Ferdinand naturally has a good many acquaintance in the neighbourhood there is none as conveniently placed as we are. On my part I think I was never so fortunate in my life. I have still yet to come to terms with the quietness of country life and, admire it as I do, I must confess to a great tendency towards boredom when left much on my own.’

  Mr Wyndham laughed.

  ‘A sad reflection on the joys of country life. I understand you, however. It must be dull for a lively young lady like you to be doomed to life in a small country parish.’