Curricle & Chaise (18 page)

The candle was out, she was almost asleep. She could hear the whistle of the wind gusting in the courtyard beneath her window, rustling the leaves which lingered in hidden corners. Everything else was silent. Or was it? Was that not a footstep outside? She caught her breath, ears straining. She was certain that there was someone in the passage. Suddenly her heart leapt. Her chamber door was creaking open, the trunk, which she had again placed by it, gliding treacherously quietly across the floor. She was wide awake at once. A masculine silhouette appeared in the light from beyond. She stared in fascinated terror. He lurched into the room and over to her bed. She tried to scream, but the sound refused to come out. He bent over to touch her. She could see the grin on his face as the light caught it. The rest of his body was a shadow. He looked like some disembodied ghost. He touched her. She could smell the drink on his breath. She found her voice at last.

‘Charles Abdale, how dare you enter my room like this?’ she whispered, attempting to sound a lot more confident than she felt. ‘You are foxed, man, and in no fit state to be wandering about the house at this time of night. Get back to your room this instant, before I throw you out.’

‘Save your words, Lydia,’ he slurred, chivalrously, attempting to climb onto the bed. ‘God, woman, why ever do you have this room so cold?’

‘To keep out the likes of you,’ she retorted. ‘Get off my bed
, you sapskull, and let me sleep
in peace.’

She realised that, tonight at least, he could do her no actual harm – he was far too drunk even to realise what he was doing. Had she not been so exasperated with him she might have found it amusing. Here he was, fully clothed (thankfully) making a mountain out of her high single bed and trying to get inside. But even so she didn’t quite know what to do. So she gave him a push, which sent him sprawling to the floor once more.

‘What did you do that for?’ he shouted, his voice echoing eerily across the otherwise silent room. ‘Let me back – I want your blanket – it’s devilish cold out here.’

‘Sssh,’ warned Lydia. ‘You’ll waken the family, Charles.’

‘Sssh?’ – said so loud that it sounded like a thousand snakes. ‘Let me in and I’ll be quiet again.’

‘You will not get in my bed.’

‘Let me in, let me in fair maiden...’ he was singing now in a vibrant baritone which was so incongruous with his situation that Lydia could contain herself no longer. At the sound of his voice she burst into a peal of laughter which rang around the room as an accompaniment to the song.

Charles stopped in mid note.

‘Whassamatter?’ he demanded. He sounded hurt. ‘Are you laughing at my song? I’ll sing you another. A tragic lament. It’ll really break your heart.’

He threw back his head and
raised his voice. Lydia was beside herself. What with Charles’ singing and her own laughter it was enough to awaken the whole Abdale household but she was as powerless to stop herself as she was the lamenting Charles.

The inevitable happened at last. It was Mrs Abdale who was first on the scene, magnificent in flowing drapes, candle in hand. Her figure blocked the light from the corridor as she was framed in the doorway. Before Julia had arrived the explosion had begun.

‘Lydia Barrington – whatever are you doing with my son in your bedchamber? How ever could you forget yourself and the position you hold in this family as to entertain such a thing? I am shocked and astounded...Why, if ever I were to have suspected the slightest part of this infamous business – this treachery – I should have packed you off immediately. I don’t know what to say. Charles – Charles, I say – come away from that bed at once. How could you sully yourself with that brazen hussy who even now has the gall to look me in the eye – me, an Abdale, having to suffer this evil in my own household – me, who has always...’

‘Charles is foxed, Mrs Abdale,’ said Lydia, softly. ‘He has entered my room in mistake for his own, I think. Allow me to...’

‘Silence, harlot – how dare you even speak to me with a man in your room like this – and Julia, leave me here this instant. I shall not have you contaminated by this woman any longer.’

Julia, however, though profoundly shocked, had no intention of missing all the fun so she retreated only a little way into the corridor and listened to the unfolding drama with all her might.

Charles, meanwhile, was sitting defiantly on the bed. The cold and the shouting were beginning to sober him up and he had a nasty suspicion that things were getting a little out of hand.

‘I wish you would not fuss so much,’ he said. ‘I have the devil’s own headache and I’m frozen to the bones.’

‘I can’t help that, my boy,’ was the motherly reply. ‘It’s your own fault, Charles, if you will insist on drinking like a fish every night. How you ever have a clear head on you I really do not know. It’s quite beyond me how you men ever manage anything, you are always so fuddle-capped at night. Get out of this room immediately, for goodness’ sake, and don’t you ever come near this disgraceful woman again.’

Charles was well able to recognise defeat when it stared him in the face.

‘I am going, mama,’ he announced, in a resigned tone. ‘I am going to my own bed, wherever it is, and shall leave this ice box once and for all. I would advise you, mama, and Julia, to do the same before you each catch a chill.’

He rose with dignity, if rather unsteadily, and made for the door. It was unfortunate that an unexpected stumble on his part knocked Mrs Abdale’s candle from her hand, extinguishing it as it fell, leaving her vast shadow to spread forebodingly over the bed.

Lydia ignored her and settled down to sleep. Mrs Abdale hesitated, but feeling a sudden surge of cold, and noting her firstborn’s parting comment, she gravely retreated with only the forbidding words ‘I shall speak with you in the morning’ to mark her departure from the scene.

It was Julia, however, who was the first to speak the next day. She had been truly shocked by the incident and seemed half inclined to ignore her cousin at breakfast but Lydia soon managed to convince her of her own innocence in the affair and, though she was not quite able to bring herself to laugh it off it as Lydia had done, was at least more inclined to feel kindly disposed towards the victim.

‘But what ever did you think when he came into your room?’ she asked, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. ‘I declare I should have fainted on the spot had he found his way into mine.’

Lydia smiled.

‘It’s difficult to know just how one would react until the situation arises,’ she said. ‘I must admit that I was a little frightened at first, but as soon as I realised that he was as drunk as David’s sow I confess – I found the whole thing a huge joke.’

‘But what ever would you have done had mama not arrived when she did? After all, Lydia, foxed or not – Charles is very strong, you know. I doubt that I could overpower him on my own.’

‘Oh, as to that, why, there is very little he could have done to me there. He would soon have sobered up, I have no doubt – and then somewhat sheepishly departed my room, like as not. I should think no more about it, Julia – the least said the better, as far as I’m concerned.’

The vision of righteous indignation that just then materialised in the doorway, however, hinted at the fact that one member of the household, at the least, would not be so accommodating as to let the matter lie.

‘Julia,’ stormed her mama, as soon as she found the two of them together. ‘Leave this room at once. I will not have you associating with this harlot any more.’

Julia left.

‘And as for you, my girl – I have had enough of your shameless ways. You are worthless and immoral. You are not fit to sully the house in which you stay. How could you repay such kindness, such selflessness as I have shown you in giving you a roof over your head, enjoying the luxuries of the finest living – how could you do such a thing as to seduce my only son? Unprincipled girl – if ever I could have guessed...’

‘Seduced your son, ma’am. I assure you I have intended no such thing.’

‘...just what I had invited into my home I should have turned you out immediately. But of course, I should have known. Your mama was as foolish and worthless as you, and who knows but that your papa behaved in just the same way when he went off to war...’

‘Madam,’ broke in Lydia, unceremoniously, maintaining control of herself with difficulty. ‘Abuse me in whatever manner you choose. I care not what you think or say of me. But one more word about my dear parents and I shall reveal a side of my character that we would both be better not to see.’

The steely look in Lydia’s eyes was enough to silence the most determined of foes. For just a second the two women glared at each other. Then Mrs Abdale turned away. Busying herself with the dishes on the sideboard she turned her back on her unrepentant niece. In her turn Lydia assumed an air of unconcern as she completed her breakfast before rising to leave the room. Mrs Abdale turned sharply as Lydia reached the door.

‘Aye, you may well leave the room, Miss Barrington – you may as well be packing your trunk, for I want no more of you here. Go where you will – I care not. Try my sister Bridger. She was always as stupid as your mama and may agree to take you in – but as for Abdale House – you are no longer welcome here and the sooner you are out of the way the better.’

Lydia turned to her coldly.

‘I thank you for your advice, madam, which I shall take up at my earliest convenience. I flatter myself that despite her straitened circumstances my aunt Bridger will accord me a much more genuine welcome than ever I have received from you. You are a cold hearted, selfish woman and have raised a devil for a son. You can keep your icy room and your endless little slights. I thank you for the roof – that is all you have accorded me during my stay at Abdale House.’

She swept out of the room with a feeling of wicked satisfaction in her breast. Packing a few personal things into her reticule she swiftly threw the remainder into her trunk and left directions with Sarah for its carriage. There was no time to be lost if she was to catch the morning coach. She achieved the four miles up the road to the Flying Horse Hotel in little more than an hour, there to await the Stagecoach for her onward journey into Town.

Lydia’s journey towards Surrey, accompanied by a last lingering look at Grantham Hall as the horses trotted past, was unseasonably foreshortened in London by an acute shortage of funds. In her hurry to leave Abdale she had thought nothing of her means of travel and by the time the coach jolted into Red Lion Yard her last shillings had been spent on the fare and she was obliged to consider how best to pay for the next stage in her journey. Even worse, by the time the coach had reached its destination it was far too late in the day for her to catch an onward Stage to Netley. There would be nothing for it but to secure a bed for the night in London, and resume her journey in the morning.

Gradually her fellow passengers melted away into the London streets and Lydia was left standing alone in the inn yard, her reticule at her feet. She glanced around uneasily, catching the eye of one of a group of ostlers lounging about in a dirty corner as she did so. Suddenly she felt a little vulnerable. As a young lady, on her own and penniless, in London, she found herself in an unenviable situation.

Having no intention of being accosted by either ostlers or anyone else she picked up her bag and set her sights firmly on the inn’s doorway nearby. At least the innkeeper appeared welcoming. Yes, she could have a room for the night. Would the young lady like to follow him?

Once inside the somewhat dingy room Lydia sat on the bed (it was a particularly uncomfortable affair which depended, apparently, upon a vicious combination of hay and feathers for a mattress, but just at that moment this was the last thing on her mind) and wondered what to do. She had thrown a few items into her reticule before leaving Abdale – perhaps there was something amongst these that could be used to raise some funds? In a triumph of hope over expectation she thrust her hand into its cavernous depths and pulled out everything in turn. The now empty purse - a little pot of cream – some linen – a
handkerchief. There was precious little else. Perhaps the handkerchief could be made to raise the required sum? After all, it was a silk one, though sorely crumpled, screwed into a ball at the bottom of the bag. She took it up again and allowed it to unfold. As she did so a pebble-like object dropped out of it and settled itself comfortably within the confines of her lap. Lydia stared at it, puzzled for a moment, until, with a surge of relief, she suddenly realised what it was. Salvation! Looking up at her, glowing softly in the dim light, sat the pearl that Charles had so embarrassingly presented to her only a very few days previously. She had given it no further thought since its somewhat disloyal bid for freedom in the presence of Mr Churchman, and it had remained cocooned within the protection of her handkerchief ever since. The sense of joy was almost tangible. Not only would the pearl cover the cost of her accommodation and fare, there should be something left over with which she could cover her keep at Netley whilst she sorted out a more permanent situation for herself elsewhere.

The next task, of course, was to realise the asset. Much as she would have preferred to hide away in her room she knew that she would have to find some means of selling the necklace – and this meant a venture outside. It was already well into the afternoon and Lydia knew that there was not a moment to lose. Taking a deep breath she exited the inn and hurried resolutely over the currently deserted cobbled yard. She deftly skirted the evidence of recently departed horses and passed quickly through the archway onto the broad paved street beyond. From the silence of the yard she suddenly stood at the threshold of another world. All was a-bustle with carriages of every description, dogs barking, street sweepers, hawkers, traders, urchins, ladies and gentlemen on foot. Here was life indeed! – But there was no time to get caught up in it. Her priority must be to sell the necklace and release some capital – and to do this she must first find a buyer.