Curricle & Chaise

by Church, Lizzie

  ‘I expect you could get a stunning view from up there,’ said Lydia. She was enraptured by the place and was desperately trying to avoid comparing it with the dreariness of Netley Court. ‘I wonder if it is possible to get up to it?’

  ‘I’d as lief not, Lydia. It is probably not used any more. It looks very old to me. I doubt it would be safe to walk on.’

  Lydia was unconvinced.

  ‘It looks sturdy enough to me,’ she declared. ‘Perhaps if we found Mr Churchman he could tell us whether it is safe to walk on or not?’

  Lucy still hesitated but Lydia, fired with enthusiasm, had already turned to find the quickest route back to the house. They came across Mr Churchman in the garden.

  ‘I wondered where you had got to,’ he said. ‘I was just on my way to seek you out. The parapet, you say? Yes, I should have guessed that Miss Barrington would be drawn to that! It is certainly safe to walk on, if you take care. I can take you up there, if you like. The staircase is a little narrow and steep but I am sure that you will find the effort worthwhile when you see the views from the top.’

  Both girls assured him, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, that they felt perfectly capable of managing the stairs. On the way back to the house Mr Churchman had the happy thought that the two young ladies might be interested in Foxwell’s rather splendid kitchen garden and led them through an intriguing wooden door into a stone-walled area replete with rows of fruit and vegetables in varying degrees of maturity. All along the northern edge was a vast orangery, filled with exotic fruits. As he explained a little about them Lydia realised that, of all the things that she would most like to learn more about, exotic fruit growing was surely the one at the top of her list. By contrast Lucy, tagging along behind them, had no interest whatsoever in fruit and vegetables (other than in devouring them) but she was gradually realising that the day was intended for Lydia’s benefit rather than her own. She was good natured enough to feel diverted by this, although a little embarrassed, firstly by feeling akin to the gooseberries which at that moment appeared to be providing an enormous source of fascination for her friend, and secondly by discovering that her companions were as unconscious of their total absorption in one other as it would be obvious to everybody else.

  Having exhausted the delights of the vegetable plot Mr Churchman resumed his mission to show his guests the parapet walk. Returning to the house he led the way up the broad, curved oak staircase with stained glass window at its head, along a gallery which skirted the hall, and then along a narrow corridor to the foot of the attic stairs.

  ‘Foxwell really was more of a fortified manor house than a castle,’ he explained. ‘It fell into disrepair at about the time of the civil war. It has been in Bateman hands for about a hundred years now. It was my grandfather who developed it into what you see today. It is maybe a little whimsical in places, but all in all I think he made a good job of it. Now, mind the steps – it is rather dark up here.’

  He had unlocked a little door to reveal a narrow stairway. Lydia went first, picking her way carefully in the darkness. She stopped once to peer out of a little window to the side but was disappointed to find a rather boring view of the roof. Eventually, however, she reached the top and pushed open the door, blinking at a sudden rush of sunshine as she stepped out onto the parapet itself. The beauties of the park revealed themselves in an all embracing panorama which was crowned, in the distance, by a vista of sparkling blue sea.

  ‘Oh...It is absolutely beautiful,’ she breathed, spellbound. As far as the eye could see there were white clouds in a brilliant blue sky topping green pastures dotted with trees. Closer to the building was the shrubbery, with pleasure garden adjacent, and the ha-ha (‘the old moat’ explained Henry, helpfully) leading onto the park. Lydia could hardly contain her delight.

  ‘What a glorious place,’ she whispered, half to herself. ‘I have never seen anything so magnificent in my life before.’

  Mr Churchman could not help but be pleased at Lydia’s obvious enthusiasm for his home.

  ‘It is very fine,’ he agreed. ‘I like to think of it as one of the finest views in the county – certainly it is one of my own favourites, although I suppose you could accuse me of bias. You can get glimpses of the sea from some of the principal upstairs rooms in the house, as well, although none is quite as magnificent as from up here. You will get another perspective from this direction, Miss Barrington, between the fold of the hills – there – can you see it glistening in the distance?’

  She could. It was wonderful. She leaned on the wall and gazed again on the view. She felt absolutely and utterly enraptured. To be standing in the warm sunshine, Mr Churchman at her side, admiring the most perfect view she had ever had the pleasure to see and with the prospect of a fine dinner and entertainment ahead – just for that moment she could want for nothing more.

  After they had gazed enough (although privately Lydia felt that she could never gaze enough at a sight like that) Lucy turned to pass down the steps once more. Whether it was the sudden change from light to dark, or whether she simply missed her step, she suddenly gave a little cry and fell heavily down several stairs, bruising her arm in the process. Mr Churchman was beside her at once.

  ‘My dear Miss Taylor,’ he cried in consternation. ‘Let me help you. Are you much hurt?’

  Lydia would have hurried to her assistance but a lack of space on the narrow steps prevented her from doing so. Lucy made an attempt to stand up. She appeared more shaken than hurt, although Lydia was concerned for her ankle.

  ‘I will be fine, thank you,’ she assured them. ‘It was pure lack of attention on my part – and after all your warnings, too, Mr Churchman. What a goose-ish thing to do.’

  Mr Churchman offered her his hand and, stepping down sideways, Lucy gingerly made her way to the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘If you will stay where you are, Miss Barrington, I shall come back in a moment and offer you a hand.’

  He was as good as his word and apart from some slight concern for her unfortunate friend Lydia had the rather guilty happiness of feeling Mr Churchman’s warm hand firmly clasped around hers as he helped her slowly down the stairs.

  They were reunited at the bottom. Lucy appeared to be somewhat crumpled and shaken but otherwise none the worse for her fall. She and Lydia went into a little room off the landing to repair the damage and it was not too long before she felt quite happy to rejoin the party in the saloon.

  Mr Churchman having settled upon an early dinner, the better to accommodate his aunt, who was of old-fashioned habits, the party assembled in the drawing room shortly after six in preparation for their meal. The dining room was well proportioned and handsomely decorated in a delicate blue which was warmed by shafts of sunlight streaming in through its tall arched windows on the far wall. Lydia found herself placed next to Miss Bateman, with Lucy close by on the other side of the table.

  ‘Have a further helping of the veal and ham pie, Miss Barrington,’ suggested her hostess as Lydia hesitated between the tempting choices before her. ‘It is a particular favourite of Henry’s, you know. He insists on having it at least once a week.’

  Lydia immediately decided that, of all the pies available, the veal and ham was undoubtedly the very best.

  ‘It looks delicious, ma’am. I should certainly like a piece – and I am also tempted by the buttered lobster – and then I really must try that strawberry pie.’

  The servant filled her wine glass for the third time. Lydia looked at it for a moment, then mentally shrugged her shoulders, and drank.

  ‘You have a delightful home here, ma’am,’ she confided, emboldened, maybe, by the previous glassful of wine. ‘Mr Churchman was kind enough to show Miss Taylor and me the views from the parapet – they quite took my breath away.’

  ‘I am pleased you like it, my dear. I must confess to having been partial to that view myself as a young woman but sadly my legs will not take me up that steep staircase as easily as they might and I don’t get up ther
e nowadays. I have lived here for more than sixty years, you know – yes, it must seem a lifetime to a young lady like you. I have always been fond of it. It holds a lot of memories for me. But I have Henry to thank for remaining here so long. It is his place, you know – his place entirely and there’s many a young man would have turned out an old woman like me. But there we are – Henry has always been considerate. He has always been most kind to me.’

  ‘I, too, have always found him kind.’

  The old lady shot her a glance, which Lydia felt quite unable to meet.

  ‘And you have known him for some time, I understand?’

  ‘A few months only. Mr Churchman was good enough to teach me how to ride during my stay at Abdale House. Abdale, you might know, is close to Grantham Hall. It was the matter of only a very few minutes to travel between the two.’

  ‘That must have been nice for you both. What do you think of Grantham?’

  ‘It is certainly a fine house. Mrs Churchman was so kind as to arrange a tour of it for me one day. It has some beautiful rooms. It cannot be compared with Foxwell, though. The hall with its gallery, the staircase, the beautiful withdrawing room – I have never seen anything more pleasing in my life. The location, too, is perfect. I am particularly fond of downland scenery, yet you are so close to Brighton that you are not at all isolated. I now live at Netley, which is on the North Downs. There are some very pretty walks to be had on the hilltops there.’

  ‘And your parents – do they live in Netley?’

  ‘Sadly my parents are both dead. I live with my uncle and aunt at Netley vicarage. They have been so kind to me and my sister. I hardly know what we would have done without them.’

  Miss Bateman seemed genuinely interested and were it not for the embarrassing incident with Charles, which Lydia still could not recall without cringing, she would have been tempted to tell her the whole history of her removal from Abdale House. As it was she managed, with her neighbour’s help, to turn the conversation back onto safer subjects – Brighton, the weather, and how soon she would be obliged to go home, as her fortnight was very nearly up.

  ‘So soon?’ asked Miss Bateman. ‘How sad for you. I hope you enjoy your stay with the Taylors. I myself should be delighted to have another visit from you both – although I shall quite understand if you are not able to fit me in – I well know how busy you lively young people can be.’

  ‘My aunt makes herself out to be ancient, Miss Barrington,’ broke in Henry from his place at the foot of the table. ‘If you took her at her word you would think her totally incapable of doing anything. But don’t be misled – she belies herself, you know. I have known some ladies half her age less able to look after themselves than she is.’

  Miss Bateman’s bright eyes twinkled.

  ‘Now then, Henry, that’s quite enough from you. I should like to be half my age again, that’s for sure – but as it is I have no choice in the matter and must make do the best I can. I must keep myself up to date you know, Miss Barrington – my favourite nephew would desert me, else.’

  They rose from the table well pleased with each other and went to sit in the music room. Lucy was immediately attracted to the Kirkman harpsichord in a corner and was already experimenting with the keys when the gentlemen reappeared.

  Miss Bateman being taken up with some of her other guests, Lydia settled herself down on the window seat at one end of the room. Not being well acquainted with any of the others in the party she was happy just to listen to the music but no sooner had she settled herself than Mr Churchman appeared before her and asked, with a bow, if he might sit down.

  Acquiescing, Lydia made room for him next to her on the narrow seat. She was aware that her cheeks were burning and felt not a little guilty at the excitement she felt with Mr Churchman so close by her side. The seat was so narrow that his shoulder touched hers. Lydia could not have moved away had she wanted to. But she didn’t want to, and as Mr Churchman seemed quite happy with his somewhat restricted accommodation they remained sitting close together as Lucy sorted out her music and began to play. Even as Lydia realised the folly of her pleasure she felt completely powerless to do anything about it. She was feeling quite reckless. Perhaps it was the wine.

  They said nothing for a few moments. The music was wonderful and Lucy’s playing a delight. But Lydia did not want to lose the chance of a private talk with her host, so after a short while she took a deep breath, looked studiedly at the floor, and said:

  ‘I am glad of the opportunity to speak with you alone, Mr Churchman. I want to amend the impression you must have gained of me the last time we met at Grantham. The memory of that evening has been a constant source of embarrassment to me ever since. I still blush even now when I think of it. I had no right to speak to you as I did after the kindness you had shown me. I forgot myself entirely and am thoroughly ashamed. I can only apologise to you, and venture to hope that you will forgive me the rudeness I showed to you that day.’

  He seemed only to listen to the music. Lydia began to wonder whether he had heard what she had said. Then he shot her a quick glance and a half smile, playing with a handkerchief which he was holding (and which his valet would never be able to repair to his satisfaction ever again) and looking almost as uncomfortable as she.

  ‘My dear Miss Barrington – I thank you. These things are not easy to say. But you have no need to apologise. I was very much to blame. I regret very much that I should have caused you a moment’s unhappiness. It is not my intention at all, I assure you, ever to cause you pain...quite the contrary, in fact – your happiness is of the utmost importance to me. Perhaps I can set your mind easy. Your anger that evening was fully justified. I have since learned – as I daresay so have you – that certain... quite shocking ...allegations made about you were entirely untrue. At the time, however, they appeared sufficiently credible for me to forget the duty owed to a guest – a friend - and so for my own behaviour towards you, which was so much more blameworthy than yours – and for the pain it has caused you these past few months – I must ask for your forgiveness of me...’

  ‘You cannot know how grateful I am for those words, Mr Churchman. I understand your meaning, of course. I only regret that any action, and behaviour of mine could have led you to believe in my... attachment... to Charles. The circumstance was too shocking...’

  ‘Oh please, Miss Barrington, please say nothing more about it. I am only sorry that you were placed in such an unenviable situation in the first place. My brother told me all about your difficult position at Abdale House and your flight to Netley, on my return to Grantham just a couple of weeks ago. He had heard it at the time from Miss Abdale, I believe, though I had known nothing of it, having been called to Mrs Blackman’s assistance in Ireland almost before I got to Town. I could hardly believe it when he told me – I was horrified at your treatment - and for your aunt to behave in such a way ... but it is young Abdale himself who is to blame. He is a wicked man, Miss Barrington. I’m afraid that you are not the first young lady whom he has tried to use for his own selfish ends. Last summer, while I was here at Foxwell, a young cousin of mine, Miss McLure, paid a visit to Grantham Hall. It was while she was there that Edward introduced her to Abdale. I’m afraid that it was not a very wise thing for him to do. Abdale swept her off her feet – she was only just seventeen years old – and had so compromised her position that, had I not returned to Grantham when I did, I dread to imagine what would have happened. There was talk of an elopement, though I doubt very much that Abdale really intended to act honourably by her. Luckily I found them out in time. My cousin was returned to her mama, somewhat the wiser for her experience – but Abdale returned to Oxford without a care in the world. He hasn’t changed at all, Miss Barrington. I can well imagine how he treated you.’

  Lydia was horrified.

  ‘But did my uncle not know of this?’

  ‘He was told about it but we felt that for my cousin’s sake we should make as little of the affair as possible. I managed to
extract a promise of secrecy from your cousin as a condition of returning the pearl necklace that I saw around your neck – he had given it to the poor girl as a token, so he said, of his affection. I recognised it as the same one at once, as its colour was quite unusual. As far as I know no-one else knows anything of the incident, apart from your uncle – and yourself. It is not an incident of which any of us is proud. I tell you, in a way, to justify us both.’

  ‘Well he will never be able to use the necklace for such nefarious pursuits again,’ she assured him. ‘I regret that it ended up in a pawnbrokers’ shop near Red Lion Yard in order to pay my fare – which is probably no more than it deserves! But I thank you truly for what you have told me. I am not blind to the effort it has cost you. It will go no further, I promise you. I am only ashamed that it is my own cousin who has perpetrated all of this.’

  ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. Please, do not say anything more about it.’

  Lydia’s dark eyes met his blue ones and she was aware of nothing but him. For perhaps three seconds they sat in this way. Mr Churchman seemed to be penetrating her innermost thoughts. He would be none the wiser. Lydia could actually think of nothing. She only felt the moment. Just as she had in her last encounter with Sir John it was as if she had come out of herself and was watching the scene, calmly, as it was enacted before her eyes. It was a moment of pure joy. Then suddenly they realised that the music had stopped. Mr Churchman was up in an instant, applauding Lucy’s performance (of which they had heard absolutely nothing) and encouraging her to perform another song.

  Lucy was merciless on the journey home.

  ‘You are quite a dark horse, Lydia Barrington,’ she complained, watching her as closely as the dark confines of the carriage would allow. ‘You are obviously much better acquainted with Mr Churchman than ever you let on. You cannot deny it. Don’t think that I was unaware of your cosy little tete a tete after supper. I’d wager that you cannot name me one piece that I executed so laboriously all night. No ... I thought not. And what was it you told me about the sort of gentlemen you like – landowner, thoughtful, serious disposition? Do you know, now I think of it, the description fits a certain gentleman of our acquaintance perfectly. And what’s all this about presents of fruit? I cannot imagine that any of it was aimed at us. Don’t you try to deny it now. I have found you out at last. I had suspected as much, and now I am certain.’