Return at once to Netley. Elizabeth is ill.
She went in silence and packed her trunk, ready to set out at first light the following day.
Chapter 17It was with a heavy heart that Lydia stepped into the vicarage the next day. Throughout her journey home her thoughts had revolved around the three things of greatest importance in her life – her aunt, Mr Churchman and Sir John – and it was with every expectation of distressing news on each that she opened the latch and found herself alone inside.
She was home – but there was something unfamiliar about it. For a second she stood in the empty kitchen, puzzled. Then she realised, and her heart missed a beat. There was the sound of a baby crying, coming from the upper room.
Racing up the stairs she could hear that the crying was intermingled with voices – those of Thomas and Elizabeth. With a thumping heart she tapped on the door and crept inside.
The smiling faces told her immediately that all was well.
‘Lydia, my dear,’ came a rather tired voice from the bed. ‘You are back. How wonderful to see you so soon.’
‘I came as soon as I could, aunt. I was afraid I might be too late. The tone of the letter gave me an awful shock.’
‘Oh, that’s your uncle for you,’ smiled Elizabeth, while Thomas grinned sheepishly from the corner. ‘A little bit of danger and he was all in a panic – almost drove me to distraction with his worrying and fretting all the time. But see – the cause of all the panic, Lydia. Two little cousins for you, called Lizzie and Tom.’
Lydia moved over to have a peep at the cradle, whose occupants had quietened at the appearance of their cousin (much to everyone’s relief) and were even now in the throes of falling off to sleep.
‘My word, aunt,’ said Lydia, staring at the tiny bundles with a mixture of astonishment and delight. ‘Two babies – and you had no idea? What a privilege. And how are they, these two little cousins of mine who were in such a hurry to enter the world? Can it be that such tiny creatures as these have been the cause of all this trouble?’
‘They are almost a day old now,’ said Thomas. He was obviously in a state of pleased shock, scarcely knowing what had happened. ‘The danger has been over since last evening – though I am grateful to you for hurrying back so quickly.’
‘What a shame that you have had to return so soon,’ said Elizabeth, a little sleepily. ‘I am so sorry that you have been dragged back all the way from Brighton when you really did not need to concern yourself at all. Still, now you’re back I am dying to hear all your news. Perhaps in an hour or two, when I am fully awake, you will come and tell me all about it...?’
It was late into the afternoon before Elizabeth awoke once more. Now that her immediate concern over her aunt’s health had been quelled Lydia was anxious to find out whether Sir John had returned to Netley in her absence, and whether he had received her letter. When it came to it, however, she was so anxious that she felt totally unable to raise the subject and was forced to answer the innumerable questions of her inquisitive aunt instead. Now wide awake and lively she was prepared to let Lydia off with no omissions of detail, from the size of the rooms in Madeira Place to the evenings spent at home.
‘And what of your trip to Foxwell?’ she asked, somewhat slyly. ‘You have mentioned it once or twice and given me quite a taste to hear more.’
Lydia hesitated. It was impossible to separate Foxwell from Mr Churchman, and Mr Churchman from Sir John. Yet still she could not bring herself to ask the question that was dominating her mind. So she began, in the end, with a description of the building – much to Elizabeth’s obvious disgust.
‘Such a beautiful place, aunt,’ she said, avoiding Elizabeth’s eye. ‘I never saw anywhere quite so lovely in my life before. The hall is tall and wide, with a gallery over, and arched, stained glass windows. They have the most beautiful Axminster rugs on the floor, while the parapet walk...’
‘But what did you do there?’ her aunt wanted to know. Lydia gave her a quick glance. Elizabeth was sitting up in bed quite innocently, though with a tell-tale twinkle in her eye.
‘Well, we went for a walk in the shrubbery, met Miss Bateman – such a dear old lady, and so full of life – we understood each other very well, I think. Mr Churchman,’ she went on quickly, trying not to blush as she mentioned his name (but failing miserably) and daring not to look other than at the floor, ‘was so kind as to escort Lucy and me on the parapet walk. The views were absolutely stunning – the downs, fields, trees – you can even see the sea. After dinner... after dinner... oh, aunt, for Heaven’s sake – you must tell me – is Sir John returned from Town?’
Her agitation was obvious but she could stand the suspense no longer. Elizabeth looked at her enquiringly.
‘He is not returned this second time,’ she said, cagily.
Lydia looked up quickly.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘He returned from London about three days ago, I believe – by which time I was already taken to my bed – but after a quick call on Dr Bridger he went off again to Tunbridge Wells to collect Miss Judith from her aunt’s.’
‘And my letter to him?’
‘I’m afraid I still have it here,’ smiled Elizabeth, taking it out from beside her bed. ‘The opportunity for handing it over did not present itself, as you will appreciate – so I’m afraid that Sir John is still totally ignorant of your response.’
The surge of relief overpowered her and she instantly broke down in tears, her aunt’s warm hand in hers.
‘Oh thank God,’ she whispered. ‘Thank God for that. You cannot know the relief of those few words. I have been so worried, I haven’t known what to do. You were absolutely right, aunt – I am quite unable to marry Sir John, however worthy he is. I thought I could, but I cannot. Even if I stay single for the rest of my life and have to work somewhere far away, how could I have married a man I do not love when my heart is given entirely to somebody else? I really cannot believe it. How lucky that you were called to your bed when you were...’
‘Well, I’m glad it pleased one of us,’ owned Elizabeth. ‘It did not please everyone at the time, I must say. Nevertheless, your letter was safe with me anyway. I had no intention of handing it over, knowing that there was no way in which you could be even tolerably happy as his wife. The whole idea was ludicrous. How could you expect me to send my niece into a marriage which would have been a disaster from start to finish, purely out of a sense of duty to everyone else? But there would have been little point in arguing further at the time. Had I not suggested the letter you would have refused to go to Brighton, and that would have been a shame. I only suggested it in order to ease your misery over what you should do about your trip...’
‘Aunt Bridger, you are an evil, scheming woman,’ laughed Lydia, flinging her arms around her neck. ‘I shall never be able to trust you again. You are the most totally unreliable messenger I have ever come across.’
‘Ssssch,’ whispered Elizabeth, glancing at the cot. ‘You will teach my babies to despise their mama if you say such things in front of them.’
Lydia cared not, at that moment, for the reputation of her cousins’ mama. She was free of Sir John. There need be no recriminations, no embarrassing retractions – just a straightforward rejection was all that would be required. The relief was overwhelming. Even were she never to see Henry Churchman again she knew that she could never be the wife of anyone else. As she resumed her story to her aunt there were no more descriptions of buildings and views. Oh no. The story now was a lot more satisfying to both. It was all of Mr Churchman – his excellent qualities, his smiles, his immaculate taste, his kind attentions to her and his hitherto unsuspected pugilistic prowess.
The next few days passed without incident. Lydia, half hoping that Mr Churchman might have learned of her return to Netley, thought that he might follow her there but she was to be disappointed. She penned a letter to Mrs Taylor, thanking her for her warm welcome at Brighton and assuring her of Elizabeth�
�s safe delivery. For the rest of her time she divided her energies between Elizabeth and the babies (all three of whom were certainly very demanding of her attention) and Susan, who appeared to be totally flummoxed by all the changes that were going on.
Having written one letter Lydia was very much surprised to receive another. It arrived on the Monday and turned out not to be from the Taylors, as expected, but from Julia. Julia’s excited scrawl, much crossed, was difficult to decipher but in the end Lydia was able to make out the message reasonably well.
Abdale House
June 1811
My dear Lydia
My fond regards to all at Netley. Excuse the haste of this letter but I have such exciting news that I really have to tell you or I shall burst.
My dear Edward and I are to be married at last. By the time you receive this letter we may already be man and wife, for we go to church on Tuesday at twelve. My excitement, my dear cousin, is such that you can hardly imagine, especially as mama did not like the plan above half at first. It was only Mr Churchman’s prolonged absence in Ireland and, latterly, I believe, in London that convinced her that he felt nothing for me and made her and dear papa agree to the match. I convinced them that they would never be rid of me if they refused Edward’s proposal – which he made, quite properly, to papa only a few days ago. We have brought the wedding forward as Edward has need to accompany his mama to Bath and we are to take the opportunity of spending our honeymoon there next week.
Forgive me the state of this letter. It must accurately convey the state of my mind, if not being in the best style. Pray, make my news known to my aunt and uncle in Netley – and may I assure you that I shall always be
Your affectionate cousin
Julia
Lydia’s first thought was for Henry. It had been very evident from his behaviour the previous year that he was totally opposed to any match between his brother and Julia but she had never been able to work out why. She wondered whether the intervening months had altered his view. At all events he must certainly accept their marriage now.
Elizabeth, downstairs for the first time since her confinement, was suitably impressed by the news and demanded to know everything possible about Julia’s betrothed. Lydia found it difficult to be candid. Despite his charm she could never feel quite easy about the way in which he had conducted his courtship of Julia. He had certainly felt no qualms about deceiving both herself and Mrs Abdale, and his open manners, though superficially attractive, were just that little bit too familiar to be altogether appropriate. And then, what had Charles said about him? Something about him being quite coarse when there were no ladies present. She had no reason to doubt it. But such concerns were intangible. She had no proof of them herself, and Charles was not the most reliable of witnesses. So Elizabeth had to be content with ‘a very agreeable young man indeed, though not to be compared to his brother,’ interspersed with those remarks about his soldiering career which Lydia managed to drag from the recesses of her brain, when she tried.
‘But what their prospects are I cannot think,’ she concluded. ‘Mr Abdale will be generous, of course, but I doubt that Edward will have much to bring to the marriage. Being the younger son, and horribly disabled, his situation is much to be pitied.’
‘Unless his brother were to help them out.’
‘Of course – but I think that unlikely. From what I could see Mr Churchman did not like the match at all. I don’t think him the kind of man to help out where he does not approve.’
‘But why should he object? Miss Abdale is an unexceptionable match. If anything she could have done better than a younger son, especially one in Edward’s situation. Why should his brother not approve?’
Lydia could only wonder.
‘It is most strange. Julia and I discussed it endlessly at Abdale but we never reached any conclusion. He was certainly most particular in his dislike of it. I am of the opinion that Mr Churchman cannot know of this marriage. Perhaps they think he will accept it once the deed is done.’
Having spent much of the weekend indoors with Elizabeth, Lydia decided to take a walk before preparing dinner. She wanted an opportunity to think through Julia’s news and it was pleasant to take a little exercise after having been cooped up for so long. As it turned out, however, some humid weather made her feel rather lethargic and after about an hour it was quite a relief to turn back to the vicarage once again.
A curricle and pair drawn up outside made Lydia stop in her tracks. She knew the curricle. It was Mr Churchman’s. The feeling of excited anticipation she felt was half delightful, half unpleasant.
She opened the door and stepped inside. Unusually Susan was in the kitchen with Elizabeth. ‘Nice man back,’ she said.
Lydia was completely taken aback. It was highly unusual for Susan to volunteer any information at all, never mind the view of their visitor being a ‘nice man’. But she had also said ‘back’. What ever could she mean? Surely she was not mistaking Mr Churchman for Mr Wyndham? She turned to her aunt, who was concentrating on mending some clothes, and demanded to know what had happened.
Elizabeth looked up at her innocently.
‘We have a visitor,’ she said, somewhat unnecessarily, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘He is with your uncle in the study.’
‘But whatever did Susan mean – she said ‘nice man back’. Surely he has not called here before?’
Lydia flung herself down next to her aunt and took up some of the mending for herself as Susan retreated to her usual haunt in the garden.
‘Oh, did I not say?’ replied her aunt, airily. ‘Susan is quite right. He called the very day you went off to Brighton. He was on his way there too, I suppose. He spent much of the time with your uncle – they were talking business for perhaps an hour or so – Thomas has never let on exactly what it was, though I plagued him for ever to try to find out – and then he actually took Susan for a ride. I have never seen her look so happy. She seemed to take to him as much as her sister has done.’
Lydia was lost for words.
‘Well!’ she said. ‘Well.’
‘He had learned of our address from Mr Taylor, I believe. They had met up in London. It seems that they are old friends. Mr Taylor was apparently full of praise for the young lady who had rescued his daughter from the marauding masses and when he mentioned your name Mr Churchman determined on stopping off on his way to Foxwell in order to pay you a call.’
‘So that’s how he knew I was in Brighton. I must confess I was astonished at just how calmly he walked in and said hello – and me in total confusion, myself. I must say you have been extremely sly, aunt. Fancy not saying that you knew him already. And making me describe him to you and everything. How could you stoop so low?’
Elizabeth laughed heartily.
‘It’s been jolly good fun – I don’t know how I’ve kept it to myself for so long. Many’s the time I’ve almost let slip that he called. You were right in your description of him though, Lydia. I have never met a more gentlemanly young man. He had us all charmed by the time he left.’
The sound of the study door opening announced the fact that the business, whatever it was, had been concluded. In another moment Dr Bridger and Mr Churchman appeared, looking well pleased with each other. Mr Churchman bowed over Lydia’s hand as she rose (unsteadily) to greet him.
‘I am come to apologise yet again,’ he began, trying to look as apologetic as he sounded. ‘I regret the ordeal that I put you through last Thursday night, and must apologise most profusely for damaging your cousin in quite so comprehensive a manner.’
Solemnly spoken but his eyes gave him away and Lydia could not resist a little smile in return.
‘On the contrary, Mr Churchman – I owe you a debt for coming to my rescue as you did. I feel no remorse over Charles, let me assure you – you gave him no more than he deserved. He had been most abominably rude.’
‘I’m glad you think so. I regret I forget my strength when riled. You have heard, of course, tha
t the gentleman suffered a broken nose and wrist for his pains? I fear I must learn to conduct myself more soberly in future.’
‘We have discussed your partiality for violence before, sir. You only serve to reinforce my view of you, although I must admit that I feel you were justified in your actions this once. But see – you disappoint my sister, who held you to be most gentlemanly before. She will now change her views after learning how violent you are.’
Susan had reappeared with the gift of an egg (which Mr Churchman took quite solemnly, with thanks) and was looking at him with some consternation.
‘I can only apologise, Miss Susan,’ he said seriously. ‘I am not often violent, I assure you – I am quite the peace lover, in fact, though your wicked sister would have you think otherwise. You will agree, I hope, that it is permissible to fight for a lady’s good name, even though, in general, violence is abhorrent? I do not intend to make a habit of it, I promise. A single incident can be my only defence.’
Susan appeared to be reassured and sat next to Elizabeth in the corner.
‘Lydia has today received a letter from Julia, Mr Churchman,’ said Elizabeth, conversationally, clearing away her work. ‘I understand that congratulations are in order for your brother.’
Mr Churchman looked blank.
‘You do not know? Why, Julia writes that she and your brother are to be married tomorrow. Forgive me, but I had assumed that you were making your way back to Middlesex to be present at the ceremony.’
‘My brother to be married?’
Lydia and Elizabeth were both shocked to see the immediate change in Henry’s demeanour on hearing this unexpected news.
‘My brother to be married – to Miss Abdale?’ he faltered. ‘Surely not – it cannot be. I’m sorry, Mrs Bridger, but I think you must have misunderstood. My brother cannot intend to be married – indeed, it is not so.’
In order to convince him Lydia produced the letter and read out the relevant paragraphs. Henry blanched as he listened.
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