Curricle & Chaise (11 page)

‘I agree with you, Miss Barrington. There is nothing more pleasant than a cheerful room. I can see that you might think Abdale rather cold. But tell me – how are you coping there? I hope you will not think me too much of a gossip but Henry tells me that you are sorely put upon at times and it must be difficult for you to have lost both your parents as you did.’

Lydia flushed a little. She felt certain that Mrs Churchman had taken in her situation in an instant.

‘I must admit that it has been a sad time for me but my position is much better than I could have hoped. I can only be grateful to my uncle for offering me a roof. My sister, Susan, has been equally fortunate. She has been given a home by my aunt in Surrey. My uncle and aunt Bridger are an excellent couple. My uncle is the vicar at Netley and would have offered me a home, too, had he been in a position to do so. But I really have no cause to complain, believe me – I don’t know what I could have done, otherwise. All our money went to pay our creditors and I had nowhere else to go.’

‘Aye – the government is happy enough to use our menfolk for its own ends. It is not so forthcoming when their dependents are in need. This war has a great deal to answer for, Miss Barrington. I am passionate in my hatred of it. When I think of the wastage in human lives and souls I could weep with the folly of it all. Yet I realise that there is nothing else to be done. These Frenchmen must be halted somehow or I fear the world will fall apart.’

‘My own feelings are too much engaged to pass objective judgement on it. Papa was convinced of the necessity, however, and that must be good enough for me. If only I could be assured of a happy outcome I should think it almost worthwhile.’

‘Henry considers our victory assured. He has every faith in the Viscount’s capacity for command.’

‘Indeed? I didn’t know that Mr Churchman was particularly interested in the war.’

‘Oh yes – he has made quite a study of it. You must ask him about it some time, Miss Barrington. If his father had not died when he did Henry would have enlisted with his brother. He was quite wild to go. He wanted to serve his country, you see –
and Wellesley had just been sent to the Peninsula at the time -
though I must confess to being relieved when he was prevented from going. I have no doubt that he would have made a brave soldier
. K
nowing Henry, he would have volunteered for all those tasks which are most unpleasant and carried them out without a thought for himself. He took it hard that he couldn’t go, though in my mind he has achieved just as much in running the estates as he could have done in going off to war.’

It felt so comfortable, talking with Mrs Churchman, that Lydia was surprised to find that a full half hour had gone by. She glanced at the clock as it chimed the hour and reluctantly decided that it was time to take her leave. She had a long walk ahead of her and she could not risk the darkness coming in before she reached the park.

‘Would you like to see the rest of the house before you leave?’ asked Mrs Churchman, as Lydia rose to go. ‘I am afraid that I am not quite strong enough to give you a tour but Mrs French, our housekeeper, would be pleased to do so on my behalf. It will not detain you very long.’

A little guiltily, Lydia confessed that nothing would please her more. Mrs French was duly summoned and pronounced herself quite willing to put herself at Lydia’s disposal. After a kind parting from Mrs Churchman and a warm request that she should come again soon she was led firstly through the hall to a splendid blue dining room and then into a long gallery, which formed one complete side of the house. There were tapestries covering one wall and a row of tall windows with a view northwards over the garden and lake along the other. Lydia thought it quite enchanting.

‘Aye, it is a fine house indeed, Miss. The master makes sure it is well cared for, for the sake of his mother – which is much to his credit, as he himself spends so little time here as a rule, what with his house in London and his visits down to Foxwell, to see his great-aunt... This room is a particular favourite of the mistress, poor lady. She’s never been herself since the old master passed away – not but what Mr Henry looks after her, of course, but it’s not the same for her, with her being so poorly and all...’

As they were making their way through the drawing room to the library there was the sound of footsteps in the hall.

‘That’ll be the master, I daresay,’ said Mrs French, opening the library door. ‘He’ll have been out with his steward, I expect. He normally returns about this time of day.’

The whole house was a delight. The library, obviously a male retreat, was nonetheless well used and comfortable, with a fine selection of books and elegant columned windows looking out onto the drive. An open book, pen and paper on the table in the centre of the room suggested work in progress and even as Lydia looked at it the door was flung open and Mr Churchman himself walked in.

‘Ah, Miss Barrington – I thought I should find you in here,’ he said, bowing over her hand with a smile. ‘You have called as promised – and I see that my mother has persuaded you to see over the house before you go. I think my mother would like your assistance, Mrs French, if you would be so kind. Perhaps Miss Barrington will allow me to show her the remainder of the house?’

The housekeeper retreated. Mr Churchman turned to Lydia with a smile.

‘I must apologise for putting you through the grand tour like this,’ he said. ‘My mother has always been quite passionate about this house and expects all her visitors to feel the same.’

Lydia was quick to reassure him.

‘The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Mr Churchman. I needed no second bidding to examine the house. I have always had an interest in architecture – had I been a man I think I should like to have gone into the profession.’

‘And what do you think of it? It is not as fine as Abdale but I hope you have found some of the rooms to your liking?’

‘I find it very beautiful, Mr Churchman. It has a welcoming feel to it. Abdale House is too fine to be welcoming – and yet I find Grantham quite as elegant, in its own way. Your gallery is splendid – and this library, too. I should love to have this to retreat to on a wet winter’s afternoon.’

‘The library is my own retreat. I find it especially pleasant to sit
here on a summer’s evening with
the last rays of
the
sun filter
ing
in through open windows. The peace and quiet is most soothing, particularly on returning from Town. But I know I need not persuade you of that, Miss Barrington, for we are both unfashionably fond of the sunshine, are we not?’

The particular smile as he said this, looking directly at her, and his linking of their names together made Lydia’s heart beat unaccountably faster.

‘For shame, sir,’ she protested, peeping up at him fleetingly before intently examining the work on the table. ‘You are too severe, calling me unfashionable. Why, my reputation will be ruined before ever I am become known in the neighbourhood, and that will never do. I had hoped that you might protect me, Mr Churchman, but I find my confidence misplaced. And yet, to me, you are equally reprehensible – why, I see from this work that you are a scholar of Italian. How is a gentleman to be taken seriously by his friends when he passes his time in study, rather than in pleasure?’

Mr Churchman put a finger to his lips.

‘Would you ruin me as well as yourself, Miss Barrington?’ he whispered, glancing round the room to reassure himself of his safety from prying eyes. ‘I really cannot have you telling all my friends of my literary inclinations – why, they will dub me an expert in Southern European Art, should they come to know of it, and they will serve me up as a novelty at some pretentious person’s soiree. The horror of it! Why, it must not even be thought of. The consequences are too dire. Miss Barrington, we should agree a pact between us to extricate ourselves from our predicaments – don’t you agree? I shall promise to avoid all future references to your peculiar affinity with the sunshine if you promise to mention nothing of my books.’

Lydia’s eyes twinkled but she managed to reply quite steadily: ‘I think I would be well advised to agree to it, sir. Our reputations must be protected at all costs, I am persuaded of it.’

‘Then we must shake hands on it – we will be honour bound to maintain our silence then.’

They shook hands gravely, a slight twitch on Lydia’s lips. Mr Churchman, the agreement sealed, moved towards the library door and opened it for her.

‘So tell me, Miss Barrington – is there any more of the house which you wish to examine or are you quite wearied by all your explorations of it?’

Lydia assured him that though she had seen the majority of the house she was not at all wearied by it and had enjoyed her tour of Grantham very much indeed.

‘And must you hurry home?’ he asked, leading her into the hall. ‘I had hoped to have the pleasure of showing you the park. I’m sure you would enjoy the last of the suns.. err.. views.’

Lydia’s heart leapt again.

‘You are very kind, Mr Churchman, but I fear I must disappoint you. I have a long walk ahead of me and I fear that it will get dark well before I am safely back at Abdale.’

‘You have come on foot? Forgive me – I had not realised. Then allow me to call my carriage – I will drive you to Abdale myself.’

‘Thank you – I would be most grateful. I must admit that I did not relish the thought of walking back along the turnpike in the dark.’

‘I should think not. Why, I am surprised that Mr Abdale should allow you to walk here on your own.’

Lydia gave a chuckle.

‘Mr Abdale is not aware of it, sir. I was concerned that my aunt would forbid the trip had I asked her permission first.’

‘Really? Then I should reprimand you most severely, Miss Barrington. If your aunt locks you up in Abdale for ever more it is no more than you deserve. You have already confessed to being a hoyden – and now I find you a dissembler as well. How much worse can it get?’

‘It seems that I have fallen into evil ways. It must be your influence, as I had not become aware of it before. I shall certainly blame you, at any rate, and use that as my defence.’

‘Aye, that’s right – blame me for your crimes. Your reputation sinks lower all the time. Another excuse like that and I shall detain you for so long that your aunt shall never allow you to hear the end of it. That, I think, would be suitable punishment – do you not agree?’

‘You are certainly harsh, sir – far too harsh for such a crime. You make me afraid of crossing you for fear of reprisal.’

‘I should think so, too. I am pleased to hear that I frighten you and I am quite ferocious when riled. Mrs Abdale is a wonderful woman after my own heart. I thoroughly approve of her efforts to make you behave.’

Somehow his looks belied the severity of his words and Lydia could not help smiling at him. He left her for a moment to confer with his groom before reappearing in the hall and escorting her outside.

‘The damage must be done by now,’ he explained, offering her his arm (which she took). ‘That being the case I have decided to take you round the park immediately, in case you should be incarcerated in Abdale for the rest of your life (which is no more than you deserve, after all). The curricle will be around in quarter of an hour – you would not have reached Abdale on foot in twice that time and it will be the work of only a very few minutes to drive you home from here.’

Lydia submitted to his plans quite meekly. They made their way along a broad gravel path towards the lakes. Although the evening was starting to draw in the sunshine was still lighting up the sky in the south west. A robin sang in a bare tree as they passed. The air was fresh and very still. Lydia felt totally contented as she walked at Mr Churchman’s side.

‘Grantham was built right in the valley bottom,’ he was saying, leading her across a muddy patch close to the house. ‘A rather unfortunate situation, for it makes the building quite damp, at times ... I hope you can take a little mud, Miss Barrington – I had not realised it would be quite so wet round here today.’

Lydia assured him that she was quite well used to mud. He led her round by the side of the house and struck out on a path across the park.

‘You are more fortunate at Abdale,’ he continued. ‘You are situated quite well up on the hill. It was more convenient for the purposes of the water supply to build Grantham here, at the time. There is something to be said for progress after all, we find. We are into some more mud just here – but if we branch out just along this way we shall soon be on a stretch of drier ground. I hope it will do your boots no harm.’

Lydia was quite easy about her boots but she was finding some difficulty in keeping her feet on a particularly slippery patch of ground. Mr Churchman stopped and looked at her in some dismay.

‘It is of no consequence, Mr Churchman – we shall soon be over the worst.’

No sooner had she said this, however, than she lost her footing entirely and would have slipped completely to the ground had her companion, with a most creditable speed of reaction, not caught her as she tumbled, and kept her on her feet. Without further ado he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the other side of the bog, only putting her down again when he felt secure in the stability of the ground.

She should have felt shock, horror or outrage. It was not proper for a young man to lift a young lady completely off her feet with so little ceremony and without so much as a ‘by your leave’, and carry her some distance before setting her at liberty again. Lydia knew this but her heart felt neither shock nor outrage. A quick peep at Mr Churchman’s face showed him impassive. He had obviously meant nothing more by his actions than to render the necessary assistance. So instead of screaming, or slapping him, or acting the injured maid as she knew she ought, she merely whispered ‘thank you, sir’, with a slightly reddened face, straightened her crumpled gown, and continued at his side along the path to Grantham Hall.