Authors: Lizzie Church
His response, when it came, was as measured and serious as his looks.
‘Had your reasoning ended with your initial statements – about not wishing to burden us with your upkeep, and that of Susan – I
should
have been inclined to ignore you,’ he murmured at last, almost to himself. ‘I could not accept the fact that you represent extra mouths to feed as any reason for allowing you one moment’s concern. Why, common charity would require me to offer a roof to a stranger in need. How much more do I feel for my own nieces? So please, banish all thoughts of being a burden immediately. We are far from being destitute and I have total faith that the Lord will provide for our needs.
Your other
reason, though, is one that I cannot deprecate. It is my firm belief that each and every one of us should feel some purpose to our lives, and find fulfilment in whatever way calls to us. If you feel that you will achieve what you want out of your life by becoming a housekeeper or governess then I should be the last person to stand in your way, whether or not you are ever in a position to care for Susan. But – and please forgive me for what I am about to say – I would never have considered you in that light. I know of very few governesses, to be sure, but I had always thought of them as a particularly quiet and sedate kind of young lady – which you, my dear, most certainly are not.’
‘I am not
certain
– I doubt very much
that the occupation would provide me with any
sense of fulfilment at all, u
ncle, and in all fairness I would have to develop my own skills and understanding in order to qualify myself for the work
anyway
. But what else is there to do? At least I would feel useful, and respected.’
‘I understand your feelings,
Lydia. You much resemble your a
unt, I’m afraid – no sooner have you thought of something than you want to be off, doing it. Have patience, my child. If God wishes you to follow that path he will direct you along it. Otherwise something else will turn up, of that I am certain. I should not want you to rush headlong into becoming a governess when all that would happen is that you replace a life amongst friends with a lonely existence and indeterminate status in the house of strangers.’
Lydia fidgeted.
‘I kno
w it, u
ncle, and the idea is not a happy one. But what else should I do?’
Her u
ncle prodded the fire until it glowed. The embers caved in and formed a new, fiery pattern in the grate.
‘A solution will present itself, don’t worry,’ he assured her, his kind brown eyes studying her agitated face with compassion. ‘Promise me that you will do nothing on your own until we discuss the matter again. Sooner or later a solution will present itself and I promise you that I will extend you every support that I am able. Until then, have faith, my dear. Everything will sort itself out. There is plenty of time.’
It so happened that, not many days after this conversation, Lydia had cause to remember, and rue, the maxim: ‘Be careful what you wish for.’
Elizabeth feeling indisposed, it looked at first as if
both
Lydia
and Fanny
must miss the Reigate ball in March. At the last moment, how
ever, salvation came in the guise
of a most un
likely rescuer
– Sir John Ferdinand, himself, offering to escort the girls in his barouche. He would not go so far as to promise to stand by the wall with them all night but he felt reasonably confident
in his ability to assure their safety. Dr Bridger
agreed quite readily to the arrangement, the preparations were quickly made, and Lydia once again found herself heading towards the assembly rooms in some anticipation of the ball.
Sir John
stood
with both girls just long enough to see them partnered
(Fanny with the ubiquitous Mr Wyndham, Lydia with a somewhat obsequious curate from the adjoining parish) before
disappearing into the card room at the rear of the hall.
He had squeezed himself into an evening outfit which, from its old-fashioned style and somewhat musty smell, must have last made an appearance at least a decade or two ago and Lydia was a little concerned that its seams would survive the evening.
It was after eleven
before he finally invited her
to dance. That this came as a surprise not only to her but also to a good number of the assembled thr
ong became obvious by the startled
hush which unrolled through
the room as he led her onto the floor.
Lydia was acutely aware of dozens of pairs of eyes boring into her, following their progress as they made their way towards the centre of the room.
Sir John appeared to be blissfully unaware of t
he interest he had elicited. By contrast,
Lydia was in an agony of embarrassment at finding herself the focus of attention in quite this way.
‘I had not expected you to stand up this evening, Sir John,’ she said, wretchedly, as they awaited the commencement of the dance. ‘
I had put you down as a card man through and through.
Are you fond of dancing?’
‘Dancing? Me? No, never in my life, my dear. Was never one for prancing about, even as a young man. Always preferred horses to dances. Never saw the sense
in it, me
self. Thought I should give it a try though – can’t lose at cards all evening.’
‘You have had little luck on the card table, then?’
‘Luck? Aye, as little luck as usual. Mind you – know the old expression – unlucky at cards, eh? Maybe my luck will be in even if I do lose at cards?’
Lydia chose not to understand him
, eyeing him miserably as he fumbled and stumbled through the opening set
.
‘I see you are unfamiliar with the steps,’ she mumbled. ‘You will find this pattern a complicated one, I fear. Our neighbours will think the worst of you if you fail to
fall into line.
’
‘Think the worst, my dear?’ with a hearty laugh. ‘More like think the best, I’d say.’
‘But they will not thank you for leading them astray.’
‘More fool
them for following me, then. Everyone
know
s
I don’t dance. No need to pretend – begging your pardon, ma’am,’ as he trod heavily upon a lady’s slipper, ‘- we don’t presume to be high and mighty here.’
For some reason best known to himself Sir John had decided to complete his outfit
that night
with a broad,
sky
blue cummerbund tied tightly round his waist. It was unfortunate that, in
so
doing, he had lacked the foresight
to consider
its
likely
response to the demands of a dance. As the patterns of the set cont
i
nued Lydia foun
d
that
her attention
was
caught by
some unexpected movement within
said garment
,
which appeared to be unravelling before her eyes.
She stared at it i
n unmitigated horror. Oh dear! Slowly but surely, u
nravelling it most certainly was. Finally proving unequal to the s
train
, the cummerbund
suddenly
released its final coil
and sli
thered
silently
, treacherously
and
snake-like
to the ground.
On top of the excruciating embarrassment of having, in Sir John, a partner who knew nothing of what he was about
,
and
who stopped in mid step to retrieve his garment from the floor
and did not care that he sent the whole set astray, Lydia had the added concern that he had singled her out
, and her alone, for a
dance. His attentions to her were becoming such that they could hardly be ignored and it was becoming impossible for her to pretend to herself that he was
only
being kind. She dreaded the possibility that he might make a declaration of love to her, for while she did not dislike him as her friend’s father, the thought of becoming anything more to him
repelled her
. To be the wife of Sir John Ferdinand – to suffer his smoking in the library each night – the smell of horses (and worse) as he came in from
riding
– his loud voice and louder manners – and to live at Netley Court, living museum as it was. Lydia shuddered at the thought. She must try to avoid any declaration, if she could. Suddenly the thought of becoming a governess and fleeing far away revealed some
hitherto unthought-of advantage
s.
It was perhaps due to her fear of encountering Sir John that Lydia avoided her usual visits to Netley Court for the next few days. She busied herself with her usual tasks about the vicarage and, when she could (or, rather, when she could face it) by resuming her somewhat half hearted studies. A visit could not be put off for ever, though. A parishioner had brought Elizabeth a large helping of beef broth
in recognition of her delicate situation, and after consuming as much of it as they wished at the vicarage she had instructed Lydia to take the remainder to the Ferdinands’ in the hope of tempting Miss Judith to try it.
As she made her way up the gravel driveway Lydia was surprised to see a very smart curricle and pair at the front door. Apart from herself the Ferdinands generally had very few visitors, and certainly none who were likely to own an equipage like this one. However, as she got closer she recognised Mr Wyndham’s tiger at the horses’ mouths. Lydia caught up with his master in the hallway.
‘I am distraught,’ he confessed, as Lydia handed the broth to the servant. ‘Here am I, with my brand new vehicle, and nobody to admire it. I had hoped to take Miss Ferdinand out for a drive in the country, only to be told that she has gone for the day to see a school friend at Red Hill.’
They walked out of the hallway together. Mr Wyndham eyed his curricle ruefully. Then a happy thought occurred to him.
‘I don’t suppose that you would care to accompany me for an hour, would you, Miss Barrington? I shall drive most carefully, I can assure you, and I shall try not to bore you too much – though I shall demand your opinion of the vehicle as soon as we are underway
,
in payment.’
Fighting back a slight feeling of mortification at merely being a substitute for her more fortunate friend, Lydia accepted the invitation with only a moment’s hesitation and allowed herself to be assisted up the step before settling down to enjoy the unexpected ride.
And indeed, as the curricle was deftly turned on the crunching drive towards the Brighton Road she was aware of a feeling of intense pleasure for the first time in several weeks. She couldn’t help but remember the last time she had partnered a companion in a curricle. For a moment she could almost fancy herself with Mr Churchman, driving back from Grantham Hall. Dangerous thoughts. She endeavoured to banish their bitter sweetness to the back of her mind and enjoy the moment that had been given to her. There was a fresh breeze and patchy sunshine and the rhythm of the well-matched horses was both exhilarating and soothing. She said as much to her companion, remembering, too, to add some fulsome praise of the equipage itself, as required.
‘I am pleased to hear it,’ he replied in return. ‘And I am honoured that you trust me enough to drive you. It is not every young lady who would be so adventurous, I can assure you.’
‘As for your driving,’ replied Lydia, airily. ‘I feel perfectly confident in your abilities, Mr Wyndham. You are giving me no cause for alarm and are providing a very smooth – and very beautiful - ride. ‘
‘We are heading towards Box Hill,’ he explained, turning off the turnpike near Reigate and negotiating a winding trackway away from the town. ‘Enamoured of magnificent views, as I know you are, I thought that you would certainly enjoy this one.’
He negotiated a particularly tight bend with some skill (much to the admiration of his tiger, who yelled an appreciative expletive from the rear of the conveyance). Lydia was enjoying herself exceedingly. As they reached the top they emerged into a burst of sunshine, some fluffy clouds scurrying along nearby. She gazed down at the tiny buildings a long way below. Sheep were grazing in the fields, a shepherd nearby. She turned towards her companion brightly.
‘What a treat,’ she said. ‘I have never seen such a view as this in all my life. It is totally magnificent.’
Mr Wyndham was well pleased with her obvious delight and offered to hand her down for a short ramble along the hilltop. He obliged her by pointing out the various landmarks. He assisted her when the path grew too steep. Despite her enjoyment Lydia could not help but sigh a little to herself. Her companion would far rather she had been someone else, and she had to admit that the feeling was mutual. Charming and agreeable as he was, Mr Wyndham would not have been her choice. If only it were Mr Churchman, walking at her side, making himself agreeable, helping her down the slope – how wonderful would that have been? She tried to dismiss the thought at once and sharply told herself not to be so stupid. Her companion was not Mr Churchman. She had neither heard from nor of him since leaving Abdale. He had obviously made no attempt to find her. And why should he? She had been insufferably rude to him on the occasion of their last meeting. As far as he was aware she had allied herself to Charles. Even should he subsequently have been disabused of this it would be natural for him to believe that she had, in some way, been to blame.