They returned from one such outing (a shopping trip which resulted in a sizeable number of parcels for delivery with Miss Taylor’s name on them) to be confronted by an odd smell emanating from a large basket on the hallway table.
‘Whatever can this be?’ asked Miss Taylor, running up to the basket and taking a look. ‘Why, it is full of fruit – strawberries and cherries, of all things. Well! Of all the strange...it is from Mr Churchman. There is a card within: ‘The first fruits of summer, with Mr Churchman’s compliments.’ How very odd. It is most peculiar. I’d never have thought it of him....’
Lydia could hardly believe her eyes. She stared at the basket in astonishment. Strawberries and cherries? Had she once not mentioned her partiality for these, at Abdale? And could it be that Mr Churchman had remembered this from all those months ago, and delivered them for her here at Madeira Place? What if...? She could hardly allow herself to ask the question, but it insisted on presenting itself at the forefront of her brain. What if, in spite of everything, he still felt a spark of regard for her? It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘It is certainly most thoughtful of him,’ she managed to say, as Lucy still wondered. ‘Are you particularly fond of cherries and strawberries?’
‘Not in the least,’ was the bemused reply. ‘And neither is Emma – nor mama. I am quite at a loss.’
‘Well, it is a very pretty present. We must be sure to thank him for it as soon as we see him again.’
The opportunity presented itself after church that very Sunday. Lucy and Lydia had just declared their intention of taking a stroll down the promenade and along the East Cliff when Mr Churchman’s curricle pulled up alongside them.
‘Well met,’ he smiled, jumping out and throwing the reins to his tiger. It was evident that he intended to walk with them for a while. ‘I was on my way to visit you, Miss Taylor – and see – we have a much more pleasant meeting place and you have saved me a journey as well.’
Mr Churchman adeptly manoeuvred himself between them and chivalrously offered an arm to each (which they took). Lydia immediately took the opportunity of expressing her delight in the basket of fruit, exchanging a glance with him which Lucy intercepted and made her wonder whether perhaps she had missed something of significance here. Lydia was mortifyingly aware of how elegant Lucy looked, compared to herself. True, at least today she was wearing her best Sunday outfit – a chemise robe of white cambric decorated with tiny red rosebuds – but in neither cut nor style could it compete with Lucy’s spotted muslin complemented by tiny straw hat and gloves. (How chastened would ladies feel were they aware of how little such things matter to gentlemen? Indeed, it is more likely than not that Mr Churchman would have been quite unable to recall either outfit later, even if his life depended on it.) Still, at least she had the satisfaction of Mr Churchman walking at her side and she was even more delighted when he announced the reason for his trip.
‘The purpose of my call, Miss Taylor, is to invite you and Miss Barrington to an afternoon party being held by my great-aunt on Wednesday. We will be quite a small party – my aunt is no longer able to cope with crowds as she once was – but it struck me how well you both love the countryside and how beautiful you would find the gardens at Foxwell at this time of year...’
‘Indeed we would, Mr Churchman.’
‘And afterwards, if you would oblige us all with some playing on the harpsichord – you must know, Miss Barrington,’ he said, turning to Lydia, ‘that Miss Taylor is generally thought to be one of the finest instrumentalists around – I feel persuaded that if she will play for us we shall have the perfect close to the day.’
‘You are too kind, Mr Churchman. We should have accepted your invitation without resorting to such undeserved flattery.’
‘Were it not so generally held to be rude to contradict a lady I should not hesitate to do so. I am not flattering when I call your performances outstanding, Miss Taylor.’
‘Ha, Mr Churchman – you are on your best behaviour today, I see. You are not normally so nice as to avoid contradicting me. You are trying to impress Miss Barrington, I suppose. You may as well save your breath. She is not to be so easily impressed as that.’
Henry looked at Lydia, smiling.
‘You see what liberties this wretch takes with me?’ he asked. ‘She has been the same ever since she wore short skirts. I have spoken to her papa a hundred times that she must learn to respect her elders a little but it does me no good. Her papa is as powerless as the rest of us to make her behave. Having said that, though, I am rather pleased to hear that you are difficult to impress. It would make the achievement so much more worthwhile.’
Lydia became aware of a jelly-like feeling in her legs. It was fortunate that she still retained her hold on Mr Churchman’s right arm.
‘I am the child of my father, sir. He was a stickler for things to be just so and he brought me up to be critical of imperfection.’
‘I see I must watch my step then, Miss Barrington. I can tell, even now, that you are judging me harshly.’
Lydia did not know where to look. She knew only that her heart was thumping uncontrollably.
‘Perhaps,’ was all she could manage. She eyed a lazy seagull as it glided effortlessly overhead. ‘But I hope you will not be harsh with me.’
‘I shall be harsh with Miss Taylor if she does not promise to play for us on Wednesday. Though she has been so good as to accept my hospitality she has not yet promised to do anything in return. I suppose I shall have to devise some punishment for her if she will not cooperate, which is a shame, for I am not the punishing kind...’
After a little further harrying of this nature the promise was duly given. Mr Churchman then directed his attention towards Lydia again.
‘I can see that Brighton suits you, Miss Barrington,’ he began. ‘I expect you find it a little more diverting than a quiet life in Surrey.’
‘I certainly do. I have never been to Brighton before. Indeed, I had never even seen the sea before we came here. I love everything about it. Though Lucy laughs at me I should be quite contented just to stand and stare at the water for hours.’
‘You have not yet seen it in a storm, Miss Barrington. Now that’s a sight worth seeing.’
‘So I imagine. But I think I should be rather too afraid for the sailors really to enjoy it. I like it best when it is totally calm, with the sun twinkling on the ripples – just the seabirds gliding overhead, and calling, to remind one that there is water there at all.’
‘You are too gentle. You must see it in a storm. Then you would change your mind. The wildness – the raw power of the wind and waves – I warrant it would bewitch you. It can be quite compelling.’
‘I am a peaceable person, sir. I think I shall leave the storms to you.’
They stopped for a moment to watch some little urchins playing with a dog along the beach. Neither Lydia nor Mr Churchman appeared to notice the rather strong fishy odour emanating from a similar direction, although Lucy was seen to hold her handkerchief to her nose in disgust.
‘It looks like they are enjoying themselves with their dog,’ remarked Mr Churchman. ‘I think you, too, have been busy enjoying yourselves since your arrival here. There is never anyone at home whenever I call.’
‘But you never normally call more than once a fortnight, and you have called on us this week already. You cannot expect us to wait at home for someone who might never appear.’
Mr Churchman acknowledged the sense in Miss Taylor’s assertion and assured her that he was glad to find them both so fully employed. He then continued with them another half mile before, hearing the chime of a church clock nearby, reluctantly returning to his curricle on his own. As he took his leave he bowed formally over both girls’ hands and kissed them, which amused Miss Taylor mightily. Lydia had to pause for a moment before moving on. It was with very mixed feelings that she finally watched him go.
Chapter 15Miss Taylor being in sore need of a couple of new morning gowns to suppleme
nt her already substantial collection, she and Lydia set out the next morning to Mrs Hemmingway’s elegant establishment in North Street in order to transact some business.
They found the proprietor completely at leisure. Lucy was an old client and was able quickly to describe her requirements to her. As they completed the details Lucy’s eye was caught by a length of white crepe spangled with gold which was lying on a table in the corner. She rose to take a closer look.
‘See here, Lydia,’ she exclaimed, caressing the cloth. ‘It was only the other day that you were complaining about your lack of a ball gown for the Old Ship assemblies. This material would be just the thing for you – I wonder whether Mrs Hemmingway could make you something out of it.’
Lydia moved across to examine the find.
‘It is certainly very beautiful,’ she admitted. ‘Those gold spangles would shimmer quite brilliantly in the candle light. But I cannot afford it. I shall have to make do with what I have.’
‘It is only a roll end, Miss,’ put in Mrs Hemmingway, rapidly calculating the value of goodwill in the Taylor household (and also, perhaps, realising how perfect an advertisement for her workmanship Lydia would represent, with her elegant figure and unconscious air of refinement). ‘I daresay there would be enough for a Greek-style gown. It’s actually what was left of a roll brought in by Lady Micheldever. I believe that she has left Brighton now, and she certainly won’t want to take it back. If you would like me to style a gown out of it I will only charge you for the making.’
Lydia’s eyes shone.
‘Would you really, Mrs Hemmingway? That would be wonderful. I have always wanted a Greek-style gown and this would be just the material for it.’
Negotiations completed, Lydia’s measurements were duly taken and written down. Knowing the perilous state of her friend’s wardrobe, Lucy very generously directed that the spangled gown should take precedence over her own acquisitions, and both girls left the establishment very well pleased with their transactions.
Wednesday dawned bright and clear. Lydia did not care to analyse the feeling of mounting excitement she was experiencing at the prospect of going to Foxwell Castle. Even Lucy, used as she was to grand occasions, was looking forward to seeing the gardens for the very first time.
‘I have heard that Foxwell is exquisite. I have longed for ever to see it,’ she confided to Lydia as the carriage pulled up North Street and onto the toll road beyond. ‘I believe that Mr Churchman owns it, though he allows his great-aunt to live there as if it were her own. It has been her home all her life, you know.’
‘Really?’ Lydia was surprised. ‘I didn’t know that he owned the place.’
‘Oh yes – he is a wealthy man. His house in Town is quite large and in a very fashionable square. I have never visited Grantham but I think that is quite grand, too.’
‘You seem to be great friends with him.’
Lucy reflected for a moment.
‘I suppose I am, though he is more papa’s friend than mine. I was quite surprised when he invited us over to Foxwell on our own – he has never done anything like that before. He has known papa for many years – his own father began the acquaintance and he has continued it. They discuss business a good deal,’ (turning up her nose a little) ‘and talk for hours together quite happily about the war and the government and the King and things like that. I listen to them sometimes but I can’t be interested in politics. It bores me.’
‘Yet it is important to know about it all the same.’
‘I suppose so. I had far rather leave that sort of thing to the gentlemen, though.’
‘And what think you of Mr Churchman?’ Lydia hardly dare ask. ‘You are friends with him now. Would you like to be more?’
Lucy giggled, evidently much amused.
‘Lord, the thought of it,’ she protested. ‘He is not in my style at all, you know – nor I his, I daresay. He enjoys teasing me, to be sure, but I don’t suppose that’s much of a basis for a happy marriage. Now, if he were more like Rodney James I may be in some danger. I could lose my heart to a man like that. As it is, he is too serious minded and I am too empty-headed for us to satisfy each other for long. He is the sort of gentleman who would want an equal in a wife, I think. I am happy to have him as a friend – that is quite enough for me.’
It turned out that Foxwell Castle was only a very short ride out of Brighton. Hardly had they reached the downs, through dark woodland which came down to the very roadside, than the carriage turned off onto a broad gravel driveway towards a house as yet unseen. It was Lucy who caught first sight of it. It was standing near the top of a long gentle slope to their left. It disappeared for a moment before reappearing again as the carriage swung round – an old, warm stone, rambling building on two floors. It was embellished with numbers of tall battlements, and arched windows to the ground floor. Lydia gasped in delight when she saw it. It sat in a maturing timber-dotted park with deer grazing in small groups and the South Downs providing an emerald backcloth to the rear.
They pulled up at a tall arched doorway from where a wigged butler escorted them to an empty breakfast room. There were a number of portraits in gilded frames on the walls, while the windows opened one way onto the park and the other onto a fine conservatory filled with exotic plants.
‘What a beautiful room,’ whispered Lydia, shyly. ‘I have never seen anything as elegant in my life.’
‘Does he remind you of anyone, Miss Barrington?’ – Mr Churchman’s deep voice was behind her, directing her attention to the painting in front of her. It was of a stately individual, standing stiffly in a field, gun in hand, a large brown Pointer at his feet. Lydia examined it carefully.
‘I would not presume to say, sir,’ she smiled.
‘You disappoint me. Most people seem to think that he looks very much like me. It is actually a portrait of my grandfather. Unusually, his wife, my grandmamma, inherited Foxwell – there were no living male heirs - and they lived here happily for many years.’
‘I certainly detect a slight resemblance,’ she admitted, eyeing the portrait critically. ‘You are more in fashion, however, than the gentleman in the painting.’
‘I’m glad you think so – though my grandfather was held to be a fashionable man in his day. It’s strange how quickly tastes change, isn’t it? I daresay he’d be horrified to see what we wear today – so very much more casual. But enough of that. My great-aunt is dying to meet you both. If you’ll come this way I should like to introduce you.’
They crossed over the hall and entered a large, handsome drawing room with an open view onto the park. An elderly lady in a neat black cap and gown was sitting in a leather chair in the middle of the room. Another couple of elderly ladies were perusing an album in a corner.
‘Miss Barrington – Miss Taylor – my great-aunt Miss Bateman.’
The old lady rose to greet them in a very kindly manner.
‘You are most welcome, my dears,’ she said, her bright eyes darting from one to the other as they were introduced. ‘I have little enough company these days, except when my nephews come to stay. It makes a pleasant change to have some pretty young faces here.’
‘My aunt thinks that I should live here all the time,’ intimated Mr Churchman, regarding her affectionately. ‘I keep telling her that she would soon tire of having a man about the house making a mess and noise everywhere but she does not listen to half of what I say.’
‘Nonsense, Henry. You know that I would like nothing better than for you to stay here for good. You cannot imagine, Miss Barrington,’ she went on, drawing Lydia towards her as Lucy was made known to the other ladies in the room, ‘how pleasant it is for me to have him at my side ... why, my own son could hardly have treated me better, had I been so fortunate as to have had one...’
Lydia privately decided that she knew exactly how Miss Bateman felt, but wisely refrained from intimating this.
‘Miss Barrington became known to me at Grantham, aunt,’ broke in Henry, ringing the bell
for some lemonade. ‘I should never have had the opportunity to introduce you if I stayed at Foxwell all my life. Surely that provides reason enough to leave you every now and then?’
With everyone refreshed, Mr Churchman proposed a general move into the gardens. Several other people were already outside. They passed through a little door at one end of the drawing room and out onto a paved terrace which was bordered by a stone wall with statues, urns, and tubs full of flowers. The terrace overlooked a parterre, with a lawn, which Lucy considered too formal but which struck Lydia as delightful. The whole garden was ablaze with colour – reds, blues, greys and pinks – and scents, all intermingled to delight the senses.
After admiring the view for a while the party gradually split up, Lucy and Lydia finding themselves alone by the shrubbery, others in the party preferring to sit in the shade or explore the park. The shrubbery proved to be a good choice. It was cooler there and provided interesting views of both the park and the castle at intervals through the shrubs. A well worn path led through the thickest areas of undergrowth and out the other side. From there they were rewarded with a fine view of Foxwell with the green downlands beyond.
Their conversation had, until now, been limited to generalities but as they looked at the house they both noticed a parapet leading out from one of the wings, joining with a battlement at the furthest edge of the building.
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