Curricle & Chaise

by Church, Lizzie

  For all this it was not altogether an uncomfortable evening. Fanny and Mr Wyndham were happy and kind and entertained their guests mightily by their nonsensical chatter.

  ‘I have spoken with Fanny about our curricle ride,’ confided Mr Wyndham, indulging himself by teasing his beloved. ‘She has been in agonies these past few days wondering what it was that passed between us – but I shall retain our secrecy and keep her curiosity on the boil.’

  Lydia laughed.

  ‘If you wish it then I cannot deny you,’ she said, smiling at Fanny, who appeared quite unconcerned. ‘However, as second choice for the privilege of a ride I cannot pretend that she has anything to fear.’

  ‘There, you have ruined things already,’ cried Mr Wyndham, pretending to frown. ‘How ever am I to tease my future wife when her best friends will give me no support?’

  ‘Tease her not is my advice,’ suggested Dr Bridger, who was making his preparations to leave. ‘Tease her not. The rewards will be greater in the end.’

  Sir John’s attentions towards her now being so marked Lydia lived in constant fear of being caught alone with him on her visits to Netley Court. By the beginning of May Fanny’s wedding plans were already well enough advanced for her to require a trip to London to order and fit her clothes and it was much to Lydia’s relief that she heard of Sir John’s intention to accompany her there to see to some business of his own.

  ‘And what’s more, Judith has agreed to try the cure at Tunbridge Wells,’ Fanny told her excitedly. ‘I am convinced that a month with my aunt there will work wonders.’

  On the day before their departures Lydia was sitting with Fanny in the parlour. They were debating whether to take a walk in the pleasure grounds to admire the season’s bulbs (or at least, those with strength and height enough to win the battle with the grass and weeds) or to supervise the packing of the trunks and band boxes essential for a trip into Town.

  ‘I think we should take our exercise now,’ Lydia was saying. ‘We may always pack the trunks later but we cannot guarantee that the sun will stay out.’

  Just then Sir John came into the room.

  ‘Ha, Miss Barrington – thought you were here. Come to see Fanny and Ju off have you? That’s the spirit. They will miss you, I know. Kind of you to call.’

  ‘We were debating whether or not to take a walk, Sir John,’ trying to avoid his gaze. ‘It is such a beautiful day that it is a crime to be stuck indoors. It would be a dreadful waste to let it slip away, especially as Fanny is to be in London for the next few weeks and will miss the best of the weather there.’

  ‘You make it sound like a prison,’ laughed Fanny. ‘Remember that there are some fine parks and gardens in Town. I shall probably see more of the blossom than you will, stuck in Netley as you are.’

  ‘Well, maybe,’ admitted Lydia, uncertainly. ‘You have not convinced me yet, though. Town is certainly the best place for society and entertainment but you will be so taken up with the shopping that you will scarcely have time to take a walk.’

  ‘We will scarcely have time for a walk today unless we set out now,’ said Fanny, glancing at the clock. ‘You know how shatterbrained Hetty is when it comes to packing – I really ought to make sure that she does it all properly first.’

  ‘You do that, my dear,’ put in Sir John, who had been listening intently. ‘Don’t want to get to Town to find dresses crumpled. Ought to see to them yourself. Dresses – important to young females. Can’t have upsets in Town. You pack. Miss Barrington can take a walk with me.’

  Lydia was aghast but there was nothing that she could do. Fanny, the trip to London, even the weather – everything was conspiring against her. There was nothing she could do but to accede to the inevitable with as much good grace as she could muster. She had hoped to avoid this tete a tete with Sir John but it was not to be. She must try to keep him quiet with as much inconsequential chatter as she could muster.

  ‘It is a beautiful day, is it not, Sir John?’ she began, a little hurriedly. ‘I have always been fond of glorious spring days like this one, even in Bradbury where, you must know, the countryside was rather flat. Papa and I would walk in the park together, and many of the larger houses had pretty gardens as well...I expect Fanny will enjoy her stay in London. It is an exciting place and it is a busy time for her. The Season will be almost through but I daresay she won’t mind that – she will have more interesting things to do than to go to evening crushes...will any of her acquaintance be in Town, do you think?’

  She could rattle on no longer, and stopped. If she had hoped, by posing a question, to direct her companion’s mind along trivial lines she was to be sorely disappointed. Sir John was unusually quiet as they walked along in the sunshine. Lydia was disturbed. It was quite out of character for him to be quiet like this. She had never known it before. She tried, but at last was quite unable to resist the temptation of looking at him. She peeped across at his face and instantly regretted it. She appeared to have broken a spell. Sir John caught her eye, and spoke.

  ‘Been thinking, my dear,’ he began, taking hold of her hand with a suddenness that startled her, and obliging her to stop by him on the narrow gravel path. ‘Been thinking a lot recently. Ought to get myself leg shackled again. Plenty of people doing it. Own daughter going off with that fellow of hers. Have an independence. Need companionship. Not a bad idea at all, don’t you know. You are a sensible girl, my dear. No silly jade. Know what’s good for you. Pretty bit of muslin, too – there, don’t get embarrassed – no more than the truth. Sister of yours needs looking after. Aunt increasing. Finance slim. You’ve got a pretty way about you. Not too fine for my country ways. Used to managing on your own. Been watching you a long time. Treat Judith well. Like to be outside. Riding. Can’t think of anything better at all. You know what I’m saying, of course. Got no fancy airs myself – not used to wrapping things up in flowery language - can only say what I mean. You won’t object to that, I know. Well, in short – well, I’d be delighted,’ he concluded, looking at her, an unmistakable tone of tenderness in his voice which at once surprised and touched her, ‘be delighted, my dear, if you would do me the honour of agreeing to be my wife.’

  Lydia didn’t know where to look. Although unsurprised by the content of this speech she had managed to suppress the expectation of it so well that now she felt completely unprepared for it and totally incapable of giving him a reply. She hesitated and stared intently at the ground. A tiny bluebell was being crushed under the weight of her companion’s mighty boot. She took a deep breath and then hesitated once again. She could not find any of the words that she knew she ought to say.

  ‘Not expecting an answer straight away, you know,’ went on Sir John, anxiously. ‘I know – not easy. Lot older than you. Need a real husband, I’ll be bound. Want babies. Must be concerned. Healthy, though. Still have some life and vigour in me yet. Won’t be neglected in that department, that’s for sure. Forgive me – don’t mean to embarrass you. Thinking of your position as well as mine. Far better my wife than daughter’s companion. Much more eligible. Companion – awkward. Wife – secure. Can bring that sister of yours as well. Better for her, too. But don’t go thinking that I shall turn you away. Whatever you decide – welcome at Netley. Nothing to worry about there, my dear – nothing to worry about at all.’

  In her more reflective moments Lydia, in common with most young ladies, had fondly imagined what it would be like to receive a proposal of marriage. And indeed, many of the elements were there – the sunshine, the spring flowers, the anxious lover. Yet she felt strangely removed from the situation. It was, after all, a declaration that she had expected (and tried her best to avoid) for a good many weeks and it was in the manner of it alone that she was taken by surprise. They stood in silence in the bright May sunshine, the last yellow daffodils trying bravely to outshine the sun in its bright, ethereally blue sky. For a moment it seemed that time stood still, that Lydia was looking down on the scene from above. She knew that the sunshine,
the daffodils, the bluebell, herself and Sir John would be etched in her memory for ever. But in another second she became aware that he was still looking at her, expectantly, and was awaiting some form of reply. She drew a breath in an attempt to find something – anything – that she could say that would not instantly destroy him.

  ‘Thank you, Sir John – thank you from the bottom of my heart for your offer – and for the manner in which you have made it. I am deeply conscious of the very great honour that you have done me in offering your hand – and the great generosity that you have shown by your offer of a situation with Judith should I find that I cannot accept. I can do no less, sir, than to return your kind consideration and take up your suggestion of taking some time to think over your proposal. As you say, it is not an easy decision but I shall consider the matter fully, just as you have explained your own feelings towards me.’

  Sir John bowed, kissed the hand which he still held in his, touched a curl that was escaping the confines of her bonnet and then, seeming to remember himself, directed her towards the orchard, ablaze with white and pink blossom, promising a bumper crop to come.

  Curricle 12Viewed objectively, Sir John’s proposal offered a number of advantages which should make it all but impossible to refuse. In the privacy of her little attic room, the magic of the spring sunshine now replaced by the dull reality of rain, Lydia had to acknowledge the very great honour that Sir John had bestowed upon her by asking for her hand. To aspire to be the wife of Sir John Ferdinand, to be mistress of Netley Court and all its land, to have her own horse and carriage and a husband who, though neither young nor fashionable, at least was well respected in the neighbourhood and had an honest heart – she was only too aware of how eligible the match must seem. For one thing (as Sir John himself had pointed out) it offered a level of certainty for the future that her occupation as companion would fail to provide. Whether Judith recovered or not, the role and status of a companion was far less secure than that of a wife. Should the employment come to an end she could well find herself thrown back onto the kind offices of her uncle and aunt yet again. For another, it meant a level of material comfort that Lydia was unlikely to experience anywhere else. True, Netley Court was not at all to her taste, but she could not deny that it was warm, comfortable and – if his earlier conversation was to be believed – she might well have the opportunity of replacing some of the more objectionable items with some modern new furniture of her own. Lydia was not naive enough to expect that she should be given a free rein at Netley Court. He had hinted as much already. Indeed, she was totally ignorant of the state of his finances even in allowing such a venture, but she felt reasonably convinced that he would at least allow her to decorate her chamber in her own way. In addition to this, it was unquestionable that Sir John himself felt some regard for her, and Lydia had no doubt that he would try to be kind. He had behaved most generously to her all along and shown her exemplary consideration in the manner of his proposal to her. And finally there would be the novelty and status of becoming Lady Ferdinand – she did not lack the vanity to be averse to a title – indeed, what young lady would? In fact, being brutally honest with herself, she had to admit to feeling just a little gratified that it was she, in preference to everybody else, whom Sir John had selected to become his future wife.

  All these things pointed in the same direction – that Lydia should grasp the opportunity she had been offered and agree to become his wife. Just one small impediment remained. She did not love him, and did not believe that she ever could. Lydia was romantic enough to feel that this one slight difficulty was sufficient to override all of the obvious advantages. She felt that she would rather have to make her own way in the world than enter into a loveless marriage for the sake of comfort and convenience. Sir John had been generous enough to suggest that the offer of employment would remain open to her should she decide to decline his proposal. Although this did not provide quite the advantages that marriage would do it still sounded preferable to the alternative. But Lydia also knew that her own wishes were not the only consideration. Of all the things that Sir John had said to her one, and one alone, kept returning to mind. He had told her that Susan could join them. What had he said? – ‘Can bring that sister of yours as well.’ Poor Susan. It was unthinkable that she would ever have the chance to marry anyone. She was scarcely able to function effectively even in the safe and loving environment of the vicarage – how much worse would it be were she ever to have to seek employment elsewhere? Lydia had been thrown the lifeline that would secure her sister’s future for ever more. How could she ignore it in the forlorn hope of something better? Susan would remain close to her aunt and uncle, in a district that she was becoming accustomed to. Her presence at Netley Court would free up the space so badly needed at the vicarage and Lydia would be able to take responsibility for her as she felt she ought. All the other advantages of the match were as nothing to her. The status, the comfort, the security – none of these could possibly induce her to accept a man she did not love. But Lydia knew, as she wrestled with acknowledging it, that it was her duty to accept Sir John’s offer for the sake of her sister, and to subordinate her dreams to the cruel realities of life.

  The decision made and Sir John far away Lydia determined on trying to settle back into the routine of vicarage life and forget about the future until he should return. Fanny’s plans had been a little vague but a sojourn of fourteen days had been mentioned. She decided not to mention the proposal to her uncle or aunt in the meantime. She was not inclined to examine the reasons for this piece of subterfuge too deeply. Instead, she rationalised it to herself by determining that as the conversation had been started between Sir John and herself alone it was only right that it should be concluded between the two of them as well.

  The two weeks passed by inexorably. The spring gradually merged into summer as May reached its end. Lydia spent the final morning visiting a sick parishioner, doing what she could to make things a little more comfortable for her in the hovel she called home. She was uncertain of Sir John’s exact travel plans but she estimated that if they were indeed returning home today he and Fanny would definitely be back by three. So at a little after three she slipped out of the house and waited at the roadside until she could cross the turnpike in safety. She vaguely noticed that there was even more traffic on the road than usual that day. She managed to cross it eventually, however, made her way up the now familiar driveway, took a deep breath to stem her nerves, and rang the creaky bell as firmly as she dare.

  The door was opened by the little serving maid.

  ‘Good day to you, Jane. Is your master back from Town?’ she asked her.

  The little maid bobbed her a curtsey.

  ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I don’t believe him to be coming back today. I seem to think the housekeeper had a letter saying he was staying in London a while longer. Do step in and I’ll find out for you.’

  This was a blow. Having taken the decision to accept him it was frustrating that her resolve to impart the good news to Sir John as soon as possible should have to wait a while longer.

  The elderly housekeeper came hurrying up from the nether regions of the house.

  ‘Ah, Miss Barrington,’ she wheezed. ‘Jane tells me that you were hoping to find Sir John? I hope it is nothing particular, for I received a letter only this morning to say that he could be another fortnight away, give or take. He has been detained by some business in Town which is taking rather longer than he had hoped.’

  Another fortnight. Lydia could have screamed with vexation. Fate, circumstance – all seemed to be ranged against her. But it was not the housekeeper’s fault. So she gave her a wintry smile, assured her that it was nothing of consequence, and let herself out of the house.

  All was calm at the vicarage. Susan was out in the yard. Elizabeth was in the kitchen, the back door open, singing softly to herself as she made some baby clothes out of a worn out robe. She smiled happily at Lydia when she appeared. Everything see
med fresh to Lydia’s senses – the quiet rustle of new leaves, the constant tut-tutting of a nearby Robin. The world of the vicarage was warm and benign, with everything at peace within.

  Then ... crash!

  Without warning the mood of quietness was destroyed by the commotion of an incident outside. Lydia leapt to the window. In the road everything was in turmoil – people shouting, horses whinnying – all was bustle and furore. It seemed that a post chaise had shed a wheel directly outside the vicarage and a crowd of rough-looking men, seemingly on the way to some prize fight or other, had gathered around the vehicle in the apparent hope of helping themselves to any valuables they might discover inside. A small boy pushed his way out of the crowd and made off down the road, followed by anguished feminine cries of ‘Stop! Thief!’ from the passengers in the chaise.

  The crowd was starting to look a trifle ugly but just then Thomas Bridger happened to return from a visit elsewhere. He was in the midst of the crowd in an instant. With a commendable show of strength which impressed his watching niece immensely and probably surprised himself he shoved the roughest looking man aside with a heave of his shoulder and then landed a punch on another with such force that his victim instantly fell to the ground.

  ‘Enough, enough,’ roared Thomas, clouting a somewhat unpromising looking youth on the back of his head. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, acting the ruffians like this.’

  The crowd ignored the buffeting and pressed more tightly around the stricken coach. Thomas, however, was not to be put off.