Authors: Lizzie Church
It was unfortunate that the nature of the first dance was such that Lydia and Henry had very little chance of any coherent conversation at all. Indeed, what little they had was so much interrupted by to-ings and fro-ings that it consisted mainly of short, insubstantial questions and answers which focused primarily on Lydia’s enjoyment of dancing, and Mr Churchman’s own intentions of remaining at Foxwell for the summer.
Luckily this dance was an unusually short one. The second started straight away. Much to Lydia’s satisfaction this one turned out to be much more conducive to a proper conversation. Mr Churchman asked her about her uncle and aunt in Netley and how she had spent her time since leaving Abdale House.
‘I
understand that your uncle and aunt live in more modest circumstances than you are used to
,’ he
sai
d.
‘Although, given the nature of your escape from Abdale i
t sounds like you are a lot better off in Netley, even if your accommodation is a little more constrained.’
‘I certainly am. I shall always be grateful to my uncle and aunt Bridger for taking me in so kindly. They have always done their best for my sister and myself despite the discomfort of a very small house. My uncle works extremely hard for very little material reward. It is only sad that he cannot command a larger income, though my aunt manages extremely well on what little she has.’
‘And they have no family?’
‘Not as yet, though a child is expected.’ She allowed herself a peep into his eyes. ‘My aunt will make an excellent mama, I am convinced of it – she is so very loving, and so full of fun. I only worry that we shall not have the room to put us all...’
Their conversation continued into supper. Mr Churchman remained with the Taylors and helped the ladies with their plates. The supper tables were laden with dishes of every conceivable kind – lobster pates, baked eggs, jellies, strawberry pies. The room was crowded and hot and it took some time for everyone to be served. Lydia somehow managed to extricate herself from the crush and selected a table close to the door. She felt hungry. She scanned the crowd for the rest of her party, hoping that they would not be too long. As she did so her eyes fell on a familiar figure in a corner of the room and her appetite was snatched away completely.
Unluckily the gentleman spotted her at exactly the same moment and after a sudden start of surprise pushed his way through the milling throng, a beaming smile on his arrogant, handsome face.
‘So, Cousin, I find you in Brighton,’ drawled Charles Abdale, seating himself, unbidden, on the stool at her side. ‘What an unexpected surprise. I didn’t know that you were here at all.’
‘How are you, Charles?’ asked Lydia, coldly. She wished that Mr Churchman would return but there was still no sign of him amongst everyone else at the supper table.
‘All the better for seeing you.’ His eyes ranged over her insolently, examining her in every detail. He smelt of drink and
already
seemed a trifle above par. ‘You seem to be doing well for yourself, Miss Lydia, if I may make so bold. Your gown is obviously an expensive one and that tippet cost more than a penny I’ll be bound. Now where would you get the wherewithal for items like
that, eh? No wedding ring, I suppose
’ (taking her gloved hand roughly in his and feeling for a ring)
.
‘No. As I thought. So to
whom do you owe your thanks, I wonder, my penniless cousin – or is that too delicate a question to ask?’
Lydia coloured at his insinuation but before she could reply Mr Churchman appeared before them. He seemed none too pleased to find an occupant in his seat. Charles looked round and acknowledged him with a grin.
‘Oh, it’s Churchman is it? I might have known,’ he said, a little more loudly than necessary. ‘I always knew there was something going on between you and them – only made the mistake of picking the wrong one. Natural mistake to make – the other one is far more affable and handsome - though I should have known that you’d have gone for the moneyed one...’
‘I would have you remove yourself from my seat, Mr Abdale,’ recommended Mr Churchman, in an ominously level voice.
‘So you can take my place you mean? Well, you seem to have taken it already, if you get my meaning. I congratulate you, Churchman – I only ever got on top of her bed. You have obviously got much further than that...’
Henry’s face was a picture of controlled fury. Lydia thought that he would strike Charles there and then and was concerned, firstly, that Henry should not show himself up at the ball and, secondly, that no-one should get hurt.
‘Pray, Mr Churchman, ignore my cousin’s remarks. He is somewhat bosky, I think, and does not know what he is saying. They are certainly not worth growing angry about.’
Unfortunately, Charles appeared totally incapable of knowing when to give up.
‘Ha, Miss Lydia – afraid for your lover’s skin, are you? – or at least for his mighty fine clothes ... you must make a splendid whore, my dear, to stand up for your...’
He trailed off, a surprised look on his face, as he felt himself being raised bodily from the stool by the scruff of the neck and dragged ignominiously across the floor. A hush fell over the room, only disturbed by the dreadful scraping of Charles Abdale’s boots as they dragged, scuffling, across the timbers, and his somewhat stifled shouts as they disappeared through the entrance to the hotel.
‘You will pay for those remarks, Abdale,’ swore Mr Churchman through tightly gritted teeth. ‘You will pay for those and for all your other evil doings – not only towards Miss Barrington but my cousin as well, and all the other young ladies you have so thoughtlessly tried to ruin. I should have done this last year – I should have made you pay for your depravity then, but concern for our families made me hesitate too long. I should have listened to my instincts and taught you a lesson you would never forget. But now I have the very great pleasure of doing it to you here instead...get up, you animal, and remove your coat, that I might straightway knock you down.’
Charles remained slumped on the pavement, looking for all the world like a nervous lapdog awaiting his punishment for misbehaving in the street.
‘I’ll not get up while you’re around,’ he drawled. ‘Kick me while I’m down if you will. I shall stay right here otherwise – aye, all night, if I must.’
Mr Churchman would have none of this. He grabbed Charles by the stuff of his waistcoat, ripping the seams as he did so, and dragged him onto his feet. Charles hit out, somewhat wildly, his fist somehow coming home on his adversary’s cheek. He was immediately rewarded with a storter to the nose which would have sent a lesser man sprawling to the ground. He reeled for a moment, the blood slowly trickling down his face. Then, with one mighty swing to his jaw, Abdale was down again and showing no sign of wishing to continue the match.
With a look of utter contempt, and accompanied by a great cheer from the crowd which had assembled to watch the mill, Mr Churchman picked up and smoothed down his coat, brushed a speck of dust off his immaculate waistcoat and strode off along the darkened street in search of his curricle, and home.
Lydia and Lucy, the peace of the evening shattered, quickly agreed that they should return to Madeira Place with all haste and escape the curious crowds as soon as possible. In a way it was fortunately done. Awaiting Lydia on the mahogany pier table was a letter from Netley, in her uncle’s writing. Lydia tore it open in trepidation. What more could happen to make the evening worse?
Return at on
ce to Netley. Elizabeth is ill.
She went in silence and packed her trunk, ready to set out at first light the following day.
It 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.
Rac
ing 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...’