Authors: Lizzie Church
She looked about her, hesitating, not certain what to do or where to go, before setting out resolutely in a somewhat random direction on the basis that some activity was rather more likely to realise results than no activity at all. Then, peering down a dark alley opposite she noticed the three brass balls of a pawnbroker’s shop. The very thing! With a sense of immense relief she crossed the street and entered the alley. The store was dirty and cramped but she had no notions to be nice and she quickly stepped over the threshold into the gloom beyond.
The pawnbroker answered her summons, scratching, from a grimy back room and looked at her thoughtfully as she showed him the pearl.
‘It’s not my line as a rule, miss,’ he said, eyeing her plain woollen mantle critically. ‘But
give me a kiss and I’ll give you a guinea
.’
Lydia gave him a withering look.
‘Come now, my man,’ she countered, in what, in a different situation, might easily have passed as a reasonable imitation of one of Mrs Abdale’s most superior moments. ‘You may take me for a fool if you wish but I know for a fact
that this necklace is worth ten
times your price – aye, and honestly gained, too, which is more than can be said for the majority of your stock, I’ll be bound.’
The man was evidently taken aback and hurriedly revised his opinion of her.
‘Now then, miss,’ he said, sternly, straightening his spotted neckerchief nervously. ‘I’ll have no such accusations made in my establishment. Why, how am I to know that you yourself is honest? I’ve never clapped eyes on you in my life before and I daresay I shall never see sight nor sound of you again.’
‘As for that,’ said Lydia, secre
tly acknowledging
the likely veracity of the broker’s deductions, ‘you will have to take me on trust, I’m afraid. I should like to make a deal with you, though, if you will only m
ake me a fair offer. Give me eight
guineas for the necklace and I’ll be gone and leave you in peace.’
‘You’ll ruin me, miss, that you will,’ the man protested, whilst eyeing up the necklace with more interest. ‘There’s nothing in this shop worth half of what you’re asking for your pearl... but look, see, I’m not a hard hearted fellow – have a daughter myself of about your age – in service in the big house in Netherfield, she is. I’ll tell you what – I’ll give you five guineas for the necklace and risk my livelihood on that.’
‘Six guineas and it’s yours.’
The pawnbroker eyed the pearl as he held it in his hand. There was no doubting its value; it was extremely unusual and its owner was obviously well bred. He looked Lydia up and down and then slowly nodded his head.
‘Very well, young lady,’ he conceded, drawing out a bag of coins. ‘Six guineas it is. I can’t say fairer than that.’
And so, finally, well pleased with the transaction on both sides, Lydia returned to the Red Lion, bespoke herself a hackney to take her to the Brighton coach office in Piccadilly, and purchased a single ticket to the Smitham Bottom Stage for the early morning coach.
By this time the night was starting to draw in and whilst Lydia would have liked to have taken the opportunity of exploring London further whilst she had the chance, for once discretion triumphed over valour and she made her way straight back to her inn, stopping just long enough for a quick meal of lamb and potatoes before retiring to bed for the night.
The next morning, having paid for her room, she made her way to the Bull and Mouth Inn where the Brighton coach was waiting to depart. She was directed to her seat by the guardsman. She climbed inside the coach and squashed herself between a large, jolly-looking old man who smelled of snuff and horses, and a nervous, wizened little woman in a yellow poke bonnet and voluminous cape, who promised to irritate all her fellow passengers throughout the journey by means of emitting loud, rhythmic sniffs in which she indulged at the rate of two or three a minute.
Luckily for everyone involved, the noise of wheels over cobbles quickly drowned
out
all lesser sounds as they lurched unsteadily out of the Bull and Mouth yard and onto the Brighton Road. It was an uncomfortable journey which echoed Lydia’s state of mind. She did not relish the prospect of her reception at Netley. True, her aunt Bridger was in a different mould from the Abdales and her invitation to Netley had been warm and sincere. Nevertheless, there was a world of difference between a planned, temporary visit to the vicarage and her sudden descent upon them as a long term guest.
In the event, however, she need not have worried. Scarcely had she set foot outside the vicarage than her aunt, seeing her from the kitchen where she was preparing the dinner, ran out of the house with open arms and a delighted smile on her face.
‘My dear Lydia,’ she cried, taking the reticule and ushering her in out of the cold. ‘I can scarcely believe it – come inside, do, and warm yourself. And are you come from Abdale? All on your own? How is my sister, and Julia and Charles? Thomas – Susan – look who is come. I never would have thought it – and all on your own, too...’
‘Well, here I am indeed, whether you believe it or not,’ laughed Lydia, a little overcome by the warmth of her welcome. ‘Reserve your pleasure until I explain myself, though, for I am come to Netley in deep disgrace and you may yet decide to abandon me in the road!’
Mrs Bridger shook her black curls in denial and turned her sparkling green eyes on her niece. Her husband appeared in the doorway and instantly shook Lydia’s hand.
‘Indeed?’ she quizzed, smiling. ‘And what terrible deed have you done to warrant your sudden dismissal from Abdale House?’
‘I hardly dare tell you – you will be dreadfully shocked, I can assure you.’
‘And yet you look mischievous. Tell me the worst at once, Lydia. I feel it cannot be too grave.’
Her aunt and uncle gave her their full attention as Lydia outlined her situation to them. She tried to minimise the unkindness she had met with in Mrs Abdale’s hands and concentrated instead on the impossibility of her position whilst Charles was in the house. What she did say, though, was quite sufficient for Elizabeth’s eyes to widen in horror.
‘My poor niece,’ she said at last. ‘What terrible treatment you have met with. I am shocked and angry that my own sister could treat you so badly. You were quite right to come to Netley. I am so pleased that you have come. We may not be so grand as the Abdales – we are uncomfortably small, as you know – but I hope we can make up for that by offerin
g you a
proper welcome, even if there are precious few luxuries to go alongside
it
.’
‘Oh, as for luxuries, my dear aunt, why, it is a luxury enough to have a welcome here, I assure you. I am not so grand, I hope, that I cannot survive in a small house. Your kindness is all I could wish for and I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart.’
‘But what was my sister thinking of, allowing Charles to pester you in such a way?’
‘My aunt was much confined to her room – she suffers greatly, as you know, from one thing and another. She could not have been aware of the half of it.’
‘Hmm, she always was the invalid amongst us. I wonder Mr Abdale puts up with it.’
‘It is difficult for them both, I think. Mr Abdale spends a great deal of his time on his estate.’
‘And so Charles was left to worry you. Well, she will miss you, I am persuaded of it, now that she has driven you away.’
Having secured the understanding of both aunt and uncle, Lydia was keen to find out how her sister, Susan, had fared in the couple of months since they had last been together. Susan had taken herself off at the first hint of a visitor but she was soon discovered, shivering, in the tiny garden at the back of the house. Elizabeth went out to encourage her back inside and it was the work of only a very few minutes before she was reunited with her sister, with something of a look of quiet satisfaction on her normally unexpressive face.
Dinner over (though Mrs Abdale would surely have turned up her nose at the thought of the unseasonably early hour at which it was consumed, let al
one at the extremely rustic
nature of the food itself) Lydia was just assisting her aunt with the washing up when an enthusiastic ‘halloo’ attracted their attention from outside the vicarage door. Elizabeth went to the door immediately, to reveal a shabby, old-fashioned phaeton with leather upholstery and a once-polished body, drawn up in a somewhat haphazard manner in the roadway outside.
‘Why, Sir John,’ smiled Elizabeth, advancing to meet him. ‘I am so glad you have passed by. I have wanted to get over to enquire after Judith for several days – and yet, as you see, other business has so far waylaid me.’
‘My dear Mrs Bridger, you are quite understood. I have seen your husband of late. Learned all the news from him. You are not forgotten, to be sure, even though you neglect us. You ask after Judith – she is no better. No better and maybe a little worse. But we live in hopes, you know, live in hopes. Maybe the better weather may tempt her out. But what’s this? A new face at the vicarage? You will make us known, I hope...?’
‘It is my dear niece, Miss Barrington – Susan’s sister. She is come to live with us at the vicarage. Lydia, may I introduce you to Sir John Ferdinand. Sir John is a neighbour of ours and lives at Netley Court, just over there.’
Sir John took Lydia’s hand in his for a moment and gave it a squeeze.
‘Charming, quite charming,’ he muttered, almost to himself. ‘Hope you will like it here, my dear. Always pleased to see a pretty face. Come to live amongst us, you say? Jolly good, too. Not enough young people here by half, don’t you know.’
‘I feel we are playing our part, with two young ladies at the vicarage, Sir John. I only regret that we have room for no more – I should gladly fill up the neighbourhood else.’
‘Send them over to the Court, my dear. Could do with some company over there. Far too quiet by half, don’t you know. Be delighted to have some guests.’
‘I fear Miss Judith would find the company wearisome.’
‘Aye, she might. Everything’s a strain for her. Can only try to chivvy her along a bit – see if she comes through. Can’t stay sick for ever. Got to pull herself out of it sooner or later, you know. I’ll tell you what – come you all across to the Court for a dish of tea with us tonight. You can see how Judith fares for yourself.’
‘How very kind, Sir John. We should all be most delighted, I’m sure. I shall have to try to drag Dr Bridger away from his sermon - though I’m convinced that the thought of tea will suffice to entice him across the road.’
The engagement made, Sir John whipped up his horse and resumed his journey, seemingly oblivious to the somewhat panicky shouts emanating from a large landau which had been attempting to squeeze past him at that very moment. He continued without mishap, however, and managed to provide what can only be described as a jaunty wave of the arm as he retreated, with his carriage, into the distance.
‘Miss Judith Ferdinand is in poor health,’ explained Elizabeth, as she and Lydia returned to their washing up inside. ‘Her mama’s death, a year ago, affected her most severely. She succumbed to a most distressing wasting disease for which the doctors can find no cure. She is a charming young lady, for all that, as is her sister, Fanny. It will be good for you to get to know them.’
It turned out that the afternoon’s excitements were not yet over. Hardly had Sir John disappeared into the distance than the raucous clatter of horses galloping out of step reached their ears. As one, Lydia and Elizabeth peered immediately out of the window. The horses were pulling a gaudy Stagecoach, lurching perilously in the ruts in the road. As they watched, the wheelers appeared to crash into
each other
. The whole carriage lurched to the left and toppled over onto its side.
Luckily a line of trees staved off total disaster by preventing the coach from turning over entirely. Even so, it took the combined efforts of the coachman, those male passengers who had managed to scramble out, and the local blacksmith, who came running over with a pulley (it was obviously much pressed into service for such events), to right the vehicle again. Eventually the vehicle was set straight amidst a good deal of foul language and it jolted off on its way to Brighton at a considerably more sedate pace than before.
It appeared that this same Stage had been the harbinger of Lydia’s trunk, which appeared some time later on the back of a farmer’s wagon. Once safely delivered into the tiny attic that she would be sharing with her sister Lydia opened it and a piece of paper fell out of the lid. It was a hastily scribbled note from Julia. Lydia sat on the bed, a little apprehensively, to read it.
My dear Lydia (it read).
Such excitement here as you would never guess. Charles ranted and raved like a madman when he heard you were gone. It was all we could do to prevent him from following you. In the end mama had to threaten to stop his allowance. He went off this afternoon with his friend into Oxfordshire and mama retired to her room with the megrim. I have to go or I shall miss the trunk. Mama has forbidden any correspondence between us so I dare not write again. Regards to all at Netley. Y
our affectionate cousin, Julia.
The presence of the trunk provided a poignant reminder of all that had happened over the past few weeks – her stark arrival at Abdale, walking merrily with Julia in the snow, meeting the Churchmans...Oh bother. Try as she might, Lydia could not get the thought of Henry Churchman out of her mind. She wondered what he was doing and how he would react when he learned that she was gone from Abdale. Then she berated herself soundly. He would probably not even think of it. He would have no reaction at all. Why should he? The likes of Henry Churchman were not for her and she ought not to allow herself to think of him. Treacherous thoughts. His image refused to disappear, and in the end she was forced to concede that it might take a day or two for her to put his memory completely out of her head.