Authors: Lizzie Church
Not surprisingly, Mr Churchman looked somewhat taken aback at being accosted in such a manner but he paused long enough in his journey across the room to point out a particularly fine portrait at the heart of the fireplace wall.
‘Mr Abdale will particularly like this one. The lady is Mrs William McLure, with whose daughter, I know, he is particularly acquainted.’
Lydia thought this a somewhat odd remark but Charles appeared not to notice. In a moment Henry was gone, marshalling his guests for dinner. The usual civilities over rank and precedence complete, they all proceeded to the blue dining room and took their places for the meal.
Edward Churchman, placed between Julia and Lydia, was teasing his brother as usual.
‘Here it is, scarcely seven o’clock,’ he was complaining, taking out his watch and shaking it. ‘You can tell that my brother is a countryman at heart. Why, even the Gordons, who are hardly the most fashionable family in the world, would never dream of dining until at least a half after seven and most people dine at eight in Town.’
‘Yet an early meal has its advantages,’ put in Lydia. ‘It leaves such a good long evening that so much can be accomplished afterwards.’
Mr Churchman, seated next to Miss Smythe-Grey, helped his companion to a plate of chicken wings.
‘And you must know, Captain Churchman,’ teased Julia, delighted that her loved one had managed to secure a place at her side, ‘that we at Abdale have been known to dine quite as early, at times, if we have not expected any visitors to call.’
‘Then I am vanquished, Miss Abdale. Who am I to question the fashion at Abdale House? And do you also serve duck in this way at Abdale, or shall it be the venison that wins your approbation?’
‘I should certainly think so, sir. The duck is quite delicious but there is nothing to quite compare with the meat.’
‘Perhaps, Captain Churchman, you should enjoy both meats equally if you were to eat more of them and speak a little less?’
‘You are probably quite right, Miss Barrington. You command my silence, so I shall command a further helping of each, and eat.’
The port being served, the ladies withdrew to await the gentlemen in the drawing room. They chatted idly amongst themselves. Mrs Churchman was engaged with her cousin, Mrs Blackman, who admired everything at Grantham mightily and stated a
s such in a broad Irish brogue.
Mrs Abdale and Julia seated themselves on a blue satin sofa and attempted to join in the conversation at every possible juncture. Lydia, securing herself a corner a little way from the main party and relieved to escape Charles for a while, was amused enough. She liked the drawing room; it felt welcoming, despite its grandeur, and she was also able to enjoy the snippets of conversation drifting towards her without having to join in herself. It soon became apparent that Mrs Abdale had detected a rival to Julia’s claims on Mr Churchman, in Miss Smythe-Grey (or at least, in Miss Smythe-Grey’s mama.)
‘But of course,’ Mrs Abdale was asserting in a mightily superior tone, her Roman nose looking particularly commanding today as it was held aloft for the benefit of her audience. ‘My dear Julia has long been intimate with the family. Why, it could almost be said that she and her brother Charles grew up with dear Henry - and Edward, of course - they have always been so close.’
Her listener was obviously unimpressed.
‘But do you not find that familiarity breeds contempt?’ she suggested. ‘I have always been persuaded that the one guarantee of preventing any serious attachment between young people is to allow them a good deal of intercourse together. Why, my cousin, Mrs Fairweather, has brought up a mighty fine boy as her own son without any concern at all for the heart of her daughter. I am sure that Chloe here should have reacted in exactly the same way had the occasion presented itself – should you not, my love?’
The lovely Chloe simpered her agreement with her gentle mama but Mrs Abdale was not to be defeated as easily as this.
‘Yet Mr Churchman has spent so much time away from Grantham of late that their former intimacy has had to be re-established,’ she persisted. ‘I could hardly say that they have been much in each other’s company th
is past
three years and more – until recently, I mean to say...’
Despite this unremitting onslaught her opponent refused to be vanquished.
‘Indeed? I cannot recall having had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of your daughter before, either here at Grantham or in Town where, you must know, Mr Churchman is possessed of a particularly smart new house off Russell Square.’
‘Oh, as to that, we do not care to come up to Town every Season,’ – carelessly – ‘Mr Abdale so enjoys our life in the country (our estates are so large as to offer no end of sport, you must understand) that I am quite hard put to persuade him to go to Town at all. And, of course,’ – her salvation came to her just in the nick of time – ‘this past year or two the sudden death of my dear sister Barrington made such a venture impossible, much as my poor Julia was mad to go... That is my sister’s daughter over there, in the corner – we have been obliged to take her in, you know – she has not the looks of my daughter, of course, but one must be in charity with one’s relations, mustn’t one?’
‘Ah, yes,’ - with a haughty flicker in Lydia’s direction – ‘I wondered who that girl might be. I sympathise with your plight, Mrs Abdale – dependent relatives are amongst the most wearisome of mortals, are they not – always skulking round where they are not wanted – and never to be found when they are. Why, I remember...’
Lydia could not find it within herself to blame Mrs Abdale in her evident dislike of the Smythe-Greys. She herself found them quite insufferable. She was only thankful that she was not obliged to be civil to them.
It was not too long before the gentlemen began to appear. To Lydia’s relief Charles did not accompany his father as he rejoined the ladies for tea. She fervently hoped that he would succumb to the appeal of Mr Churchman’s fine port and remain in the dining room all evening. His attentions were becoming more and more obvious. They made her feel ill at ease.
As the rest of the gentlemen began to filter in, the drawing room slowly filled up and the conversations blended into a hubbub of voices. It was some time before Mr Churchman appeared. He exchanged a few words with some of his guests and then, noticing that Lydia sat alone, came up to her and invited her to join in more closely with the party seated around the fire.
‘Thank you, Mr Churchman – I am perfectly happy where I am. I have been thoroughly absorbed in listening to what everyone else has to say – I have quite enjoyed it. I enjoyed the meal, too – I was quite overwhelmed by the vast selection of dishes. I cannot pretend ever to have seen anything half so grand.’
Mr Churchman looked unusually troubled. His eyes flickered to the ornament around her neck.
‘Perhaps I should congratulate you on your own selection, Miss Barrington?’
Lydia was at a loss. Whatever could he mean? Surely her choice of venison and duck had not been so unusual? He was watching her steadily. It quite unnerved her. Suddenly she realised why Julia was frightened of him. There was a perceptive power in those blue eyes which seemed to rob her of her presence of mind. It was all she could do to look back at him – she was certainly incapable of saying anything. It looked as if he wanted to say something to her, but couldn’t think how to go about it. They stood like this, facing each other, impenetrable, for a second or more. Then he bowed and backed away.
Julia, who had observed them from the comfort of her sofa whilst looking out for the arrival of Edward, rose to join her as soon as Mr Churchman had retreated. She drew up a stool at her side.
‘Lord, Lydia,’ she said, smoothing her dress down with a deft pat of the hand. ‘Mr Churchman seems to be acting very strange tonight. I hope he has not upset you? I declare I never know what to say to him. I thought I should rescue you, but you normally cope with him quite well.’
‘Indeed I do,’ rejoined Lydia, more lightly than she felt. ‘And I managed no less well today, although I must confess to finding him unnerving. It is almost as if I had offended him, although I know not how. But now you are here perhaps you may save me from another male ogre, if you will, for here I see your brother in the doorway and I wish he would go elsewhere.’
Indeed, Charles seemed more than half inclined to take his place by his cousin’s side, but Julia being possessed of the only stool nearby and determined to stay put he was forced by this show of feminine unanimity to back off and seek a position elsewhere. Looking around the room he found himself a seat next to Miss Sybil Blackman, from which he could still observe Lydia, and tried to make himself agreeable to her instead.
‘He does seem to have developed an uncommon liking for you, Lydia,’ agreed Julia, watching her brother narrowly as he positioned himself gingerly between the young lady and her mama (conscious, perhaps, of the threat that this manoeuvre might pose to the integrity of her thin muslin gown). ‘I must say that I have hardly known him to look at a female before – save for one young lady, I think, during the summer – yet he follows you around all the time.’
‘Aye,’ smiled Lydia, looking across at him. ‘He reminds me of a puppy I once owned – he would sit at the parlour window for hours at a time, waiting for me to return. Perhaps we should buy him a collar and lead – although I have a suspicion that he might use it to tie me up somewhere, rather than wearing it himself. What a thought, though, Julia – I can just see him on the end of a leash – can you?’
Julia giggled.
‘I’m not sure about that, cousin. Just be careful that he doesn’t try to whip you with it. You know what he can be like.’
It was maybe a little unfortunate that just at the time when Edward Churchman reappeared from the dining room with the final gentlemen (in varying degrees of sobriety) several of the party were deep in discussion about the Branton ball of the previous week. The consensus appeared to be that an impromptu dance of friends and acquaintance had as much to recommend it as a public affair (if not more), and that it was particularly welcome as a means of breaking up an evening spent in conversation.
‘A dance amongst friends is quite delightful,’ said one of the guests. ‘I have often been to parties where we have rounded off the evening by forming a set of half a dozen couple and enjoyed a few dances together.’
‘And so we shall have one,’ shouted Edward, sounding more than a little the worse for drink. ‘There is nothing better than to round off a delightful evening with a dance and good music.’
‘But we have not enough couple, Edward, and it would put the servants to a good deal of work,’ put in Henry, quietly. He still looked unhappy and ill at ease. ‘We had far better play a quiet round or two of cards whilst one of the ladies entertains us on the pianoforte.’
‘Nonsense,’ cried Edward, by now thoroughly enamoured of the idea. ‘We have enough couple, Henry - and John, the footman, may play his violin.’
The ladies had hitherto remained silent on the matter. At this point, however, Julia felt it incumbent upon herself to support Edward in his plan and several of the others immediately followed suit. The clamour becoming irresistible, Henry eventually could do nothing but capitulate as graciously as he could and despatch a maid to find John while the other gentlemen and some servants set about the total reorganisation of the room required to provide a dance area of the requisite size and shape. The task was soon effected, John instructed, and the ladies and gentlemen prepared themselves to dance.
Lydia, with some misgivings over Henry’s obvious reluctance to sanction the dance, had not joined in the general discussion. Now that it was inevitable, however, she felt quite pleased at the prospect of a little excitement and turned to Edward, who happened to be standing near her after directing the rearrangement of the room, saying playfully: ‘I hope you will ask me to dance. After all, we made an excellent couple at Branton and I feel we should develop our skill.’
Edward turned to her, mock anguish in his eyes.
‘Madam,’ he groaned. ‘had I realised that you lacked a partner I should have requested the pleasure immediately – nothing would have delighted me more – but I had reason to believe that you were already engaged. I have had to console myself with procuring your cousin for the first two dances – and after that Miss Blackman – so I must forego the pleasure of standing up with you at least for the early part of the night.’
Lydia could not quite comprehend his meaning – indeed, both brothers appeared determined to talk in riddles all night – but she acknowledged his difficulty with a smile.
‘But allow me,’ continued Edward, at that moment catching sight of his brother hesitating at the card table set up for non-dancers, ‘to let my brother know of your plight. Once he is appraised of your predicament I feel sure he will come to your rescue immediately.’
He was gone before she could detain him and had the mortification of seeing Henry shake his head firmly as his brother explained her plight. With just the glimmer of a glance in her direction he turned to where Miss Smythe-Grey was sitting with her mama. He offered her his hand with dignity and led her onto the floor. Lydia felt crushed. She had, until recently, begun to persuade herself of Henry’s regard for her. What else was she to think, when he went out of his way to amuse her, taking her riding, showing her his books and his house at Grantham? – but his behaviour towards her had lately been such that she wondered whether she had been totally mistaken. Even worse, with Julia gone and no one else available to act as her protector, she became aware of the prowling form of Charles heading straight in her direction. She immediately resolved to decline his anticipated offer, and started to take off in the opposite direction, pretending not to have seen him. Charles, however, was made of sterner stuff than this. He was not one to be easily put off by such a guileless response and prevented her escape by the simple expedient of pulling at her gown and forcing her to turn to face him.