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  ‘I appreciate and thank you for the honour you have done me by taking me in. I thank you, also, aunt, for explaining my position in your household so clearly. I will remember it in future and not offer you any further rudeness. Neither shall I again mention the injustice I feel you have done me today. Suffice to say that, had our positions been reversed, and it were my cousin Julia seeking assistance, I flatter myself that she would have been welcomed with much more genuine warmth and sympathy in my parents’ house than I have been accorded today in yours. What I would say is that, whatever my own financial position and however you choose to disparage it, I remain the daughter of parents of whom I am justly proud. No-one, ma’am – not even you – can rob me of my birth.’

  With that, she turned haughtily to the door and glided out of the room, leaving a discomfited aunt Abdale behind her.

  Chapter 2Although she had managed to hide it quite admirably, Lydia was seething when she returned to her room.

  ‘How dare she?’ she raged to herself. ‘How dare that woman treat me like some shabby beggar off the streets? ‘Wayward airs and graces.’ Wayward airs and graces? Why, she herself is so full of airs and graces that there’s scarcely room for anything else. Certainly no room for any real love or compassion. ‘I should show her a little respect’. What, when she can throw her money at fripperies and follies while her own sister and nieces struggle to survive? Why, mama was worth a dozen of her, in spite of everything, and papa would have offered the shirt off his back to anyone in need. Such kind people, both of them – and both of them taken away. It’s so unfair. Why was it that mama had to die?’

  With her rage transforming into sorrow, Lydia suddenly realised the enormity of the change that had befallen her. She perched on the edge of her iron bed, stared into the cold grate, and started to cry. All the traumas of the past few years, her worries about Susan, the uncertainties for the future, the overwhelming sense of loss – everything looked harsh and uninviting. And in the context of her life as a whole Mrs Abdale’s unkindness slowly began to reveal itself as the least of her worries. It had opened her eyes to what she secretly already knew – that life in Abdale House could only be seen as a temporary refuge, that, somehow or other, she would need to make her own way in the world. And whilst the openings available to young ladies of gentle birth and no real accomplishments were unlikely to be plentiful, or their prospect inviting, at least she could make a start by submitting to the regime that her aunt had got in mind for her, and take up opportunities for advancement as soon as they appeared.

  She saw nothing of her two cousins that first day. Charles, the elder, was thankfully up in Oxford and his sister Julia was laid up in bed with the headache after her late night the evening before. Mrs Abdale, true to her word, kept her well occupied with an endless array of mundane tasks which (were she to admit it to herself) Lydia quite enjoyed, unused as she was to facing the daylight hours without employment. The next morning, however, as she was concluding a late breakfast after an hour spent sorting dirty linen for the washerwoman, wondering whether she might escape for a few minutes for some fresh air out of doors, Julia appeared at the breakfast room door and daintily stepped inside.

  ‘So cousin,’ she pouted, seeing Lydia at the table. ‘You are come to live with us at Abdale. I declare you are in the most tremendous good luck. There could be no one room at Bradbury at all equal to even the smallest public room here at Abdale House.’

  She delicately helped herself to a morsel of pork from the sideboard. Lydia had to smile. Her cousin had always been acutely aware of the difference in their fortunes. Even as a child she had tried to lord it over her. It was a pity, then, that in looks she took after her father rather than her mama, lacking, as she did, the proud, Roman features of that gentle lady. Instead she had a pretty look about her, with a tiny nose and baby-blue eyes which (much to her mama’s perpetual annoyance) gave her the eager, round-eyed look of a puppy expecting a bone. The contrast with her dark, almost stately looking cousin could hardly have been greater.

  ‘As you say, Julia,’ Lydia replied, trying not to laugh. ‘Even your parlour is grander than the rooms I was used to at home. Everything is so elegant I am almost afraid to touch anything.’

  ‘Yes – it has not been decorated but these two years. I helped mama in choosing the upholstery. It took us for ever but I am persuaded that we made the right decision. It was recommended to us by Mr Humphrey, who designed the room for us – and I am inordinately fond of silver and blue.’

  ‘It is certainly most charming – and with such splendid views over the park – they are quite altered from when I was last at Abdale. They are very pretty. But tell me, Julia – is it not somewhat dull at times to live all alone here in the country? You are a long way from town, are you not? Having been used to living in Bradbury, with its shops and neighbours to call upon, I cannot imagine what you contrive to do with yourself all day.’

  Julia was quick to correct her.

  ‘You are quite mistaken, cousin, if you think Abdale dull. We have quite a large society hereabouts, actually – indeed, I was dining with our near neighbours the Churchmans only this week – and being so close to the main turnpike we are quite able to reach Uxbridge within a couple of hours, when the weather is not too bad.’

  The suggestion that a four-hour round trip to the nearest major town represented a convenient proximity came as a somewhat novel revelation to a young lady who had grown up accustomed to a five-minute walk into Bradbury. Lydia grimly remembered her recent trip to Abdale from Uxbridge, where she had rested a little whilst awaiting her uncle’s carriage. It had scarcely been what she would describe as a pleasant journey. However, she wisely kept these thoughts to herself and merely acknowledged her imperfect recollection of the convenience which Abdale House enjoyed.

  ‘Of course you are. I stand corrected,’ she said.

  The truth be told, Julia regarded her eldest cousin with very mixed feelings. On the one hand she welcomed the companionship that her cousin would bring, for, despite her assertion to the contrary, there was in fact a distinct shortage of young females in the district held suitable (by her mama) to become Miss Abdale’s intimate friend. On the other hand she had been made well aware of Lydia’s diminished status, of her having no fortune of her own and being utterly dependent upon the good offices of her closest relations. She therefore felt it incumbent upon herself to maintain an air of superiority as best as she could.

  ‘But tell me, cousin,’ she demanded, turning her wide eyes upon Lydia enquiringly. ‘Are you not thoroughly miserable now that you have no prospects of your own? I could not abide the thought of reaching my twenty first year and finding myself without a penny to my name.’

  A twinkle appeared in Lydia’s eyes.

  ‘It is certainly unfortunate. I do not recommend the situation, to be sure. My needs are modest, however, and I am persuaded that I shall get by quite well.’

  ‘Yet I cannot conceive how you shall manage. I have £6000 of my own. Had I only a very little more mama is convinced that I should marry an earl, if I chose – however,’ (blushing) ‘I am not concerned about that. But you, cousin – you are not to be married, I feel sure. I had rather not be you than anybody.’

  ‘So it is just as well that you are not. Yet maybe I shall still find a husband who cares for me more than for the money I have not got.’

  ‘As for that I doubt you will be so lucky, though you are quite handsome. Not but that mama may take you up for the Season with me next year – though, of course, being in mourning you may not dance, so it wouldn’t be much fun.’

  ‘I shall be out of mourning in a week or so now, cousin,’ smiled Lydia, thinking privately that, on balance, the prospect of aunt Abdale allowing her a stay in London was only marginally higher than that of her finding a rich earl for herself. ‘I daresay my mama would have wanted me to dance.’

  Lydia’s self possession had long been admired by Julia, whose puppy expression gradually increased as their c
onversation progressed. Every so often, however, she remembered herself again and (much to Lydia’s private amusement) instantly returned to being Miss Abdale, of Abdale House, with £6000 to her name.

  It was a cold but fine morning and Lydia, keen to avoid her aunt if she could, proposed that her cousin should accompany her on a walk.

  ‘After all,’ she pointed out, as Julia looked doubtful, ‘your papa has introduced so many changes since I was last here that I shall need a guide to show me around.’

  Julia eyed the window with little enthusiasm.

  ‘As to that, I rarely walk out in the winter time,’ she said, uncertainly. ‘Mama is not keen that I exert myself too much. I am easily tired, you know. She prefers me to stay indoors when the weather is dull.’

  Lydia retained her composure admirably. She wondered fleetingly whether Julia always obliged her mama, before quickly deciding that she probably did. She swiftly recalled her position as a dependent relative, however, and restrained herself quite well, merely remarking: ‘Yet I am persuaded that you must be uncommonly fond of the garden and park. It is so vastly superior to what I am used to, and you have such glorious countryside hereabouts that I am dying to see.’

  Julia hesitated, torn between taking advantage of this opportunity to show off not only Abdale Park but her own superior knowledge of it, and a natural reluctance to invest any unnecessary effort in anyone’s pleasure but her own.

  ‘We need not walk too far, after all,’ urged Lydia. ‘There must be many fine views to be had even on just a ramble round the park. Do you remember the wooded hill where we played hide-and-seek as children? Charles went mad when he could not find me – and I was laughing my head off up a tree above his head. That must be the highest spot for miles around and it must afford the most excellent views of the countryside beyond.’

  Julia giggled.

  ‘Lord, how angry Charles was when he found you out. I thought he would whip you there and then – but you just sat there in the tree, cool as a cucumber, and waited for him to go away. He stood there for ages. It was dark when you got back, wasn’t it? And mama sent you straight upstairs to bed without any supper. You always tried to get the better of Charles. I don’t know how you dare.’

  ‘Natural stupidity, I suppose,’ grinned her cousin. ‘I daresay life would have been much more comfortable if I’d only let him have his way occasionally. But occasionally wouldn’t have been enough for him, knowing Charles – he would want to be master every time and I just don’t play that way.’

  ‘I suppose not. I only know that I would never dare to treat him like that – I am persuaded that he would never have forgiven me for it and he was horrible enough to me at the best of times.’

  ‘I can’t help but think that we are better off without him. But come on, Julia – say you will walk with me for an hour. It really looks quite splendid out today, and your mama will doubtless catch me for some assistance again soon.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I might. I daresay it will be all right to walk up the hill if we do not go too quickly. I have not been up there for a lifetime.’

  Having no further objection to the outing, and no mama in the vicinity to forbid it, Julia completed her breakfast and followed her cousin up the stairs to don a walking dress and cloak. The arrangement of her bonnet occasioned some little delay, Julia being particularly anxious that the curve of its feather should lie just-so, but they were ready at last and Lydia had to acknowledge that the efforts were worthwhile. Her cousin looked exquisite in a crimson velvet which emphasised the gold in her hair. Lydia felt quite dowdy next to her, in her charcoal walking gown.

  They slipped out of a side door and set out at Lydia’s brisk pace towards the wooded hill. At first Julia complained about the cold, and then about the pace at which they walked but, finding her cousin obdurate, eventually she forgot that she had not really wanted the exercise at all and concentrated on their progress instead.

  ‘Are the gardens not fine, Lydia?’ she panted. ‘They were designed and laid out by Mr Morton, you know. Papa says he is one of the greatest designers in the country, having studied under the great Mr Repton himself.’

  Lydia was quick to agree. Clumps of young trees had been planted at intervals throughout the park and even in November there were bushes in flower in the young shrubbery.

  ‘I am amazed,’ she admitted, enjoying the fresh air rather more than her cousin’s chatter. ‘I had not realised how much your father had altered the place. The park is looking extremely fine.’

  ‘If we just walk round these trees we shall find the ruin,’ volunteered Julia. ‘It is quite grand. Mama ordered it specially – I believe ruins are all the rage just now.’

  Lydia had the uncharitable thought that the money spent on the ruin would easily have set her and her sister up in an independence for life. However she banished this rebellious thought from her mind and meekly followed as her cousin picked out the route via a gentle slope, passing the crown of the hill and finally stopping to look out across the breadth of the park. There indeed was the ruin, a magnificent, castellated affair with one tower and a craggy wall in some state of disrepair.

  ‘It was completed very lately,’ instructed Julia, helpfully. ‘Mama is quite well pleased with it, although I believe she considered it somewhat small.’

  ‘It is certainly most ruinous.’

  ‘It was built for distant effect – it is not quite the thing, close to.’

  ‘And what does your father think of it?’

  ‘Oh Lord, I don’t know,’ replied Julia, carelessly. ‘He spends most of his time talking over business with his bailiff and his manager. If not that, he is out riding with the hounds.’

  Lydia’s opinion of her uncle rose a little in the light of this piece of information. With a wife like Mrs Abdale much confined indoors she could well imagine his enthusiasm for riding out.

  As they admired the view Lydia became aware of a furl of smoke from an unseen building in the distance. She asked her cousin where it was coming from.

  ‘Oh, that will be from Grantham Hall. It is the home of our neighbours, the Churchmans. We are regular visitors nowadays. We have known them for ever, of course, but I have never had much pleasure in visiting them, until now.’

  She looked so conscious as she admitted this that Lydia could only smile, and encourage her cousin to say some more.

  ‘Indeed,’ she murmured nonchalantly. ‘And why is that?’

  Julia, for once, was lost for words.

  ‘Is it to do with a Mr Churchman, perhaps?’

  Julia smiled prettily.

  ‘You are right, of course. But I’m afraid that mama and papa wouldn’t view our attachment very favourably, if they knew of it.’

  Lydia was puzzled.

  ‘Why ever not?’ she asked. ‘I should have thought that your mama would be delighted at the prospect of such a match.’

  ‘Oh, indeed, you misunderstand me,’ interrupted Julia, blushing furiously. ‘I have no thoughts of an alliance at the moment – indeed,’ (modestly) ‘I have no real reason to suppose that my … admiration for the gentleman is returned. But the problem is that it is the younger Mr Churchman – Captain Edward Churchman – who I am talking about, whose prospects are quite insufficient to satisfy mama.’

  ‘But may not Captain Churchman earn his promotion? Surely your mother would not object then?’

  ‘I believe he was very well regarded by his regiment. He had quite a promising career at one time. Unfortunately he was wounded in the battle for Corunna and has lost an arm, which has made it impossible for him to stay in the army, so now he has no prospects of his own at all.’

  ‘Goodness, how shocking,’ exclaimed Lydia, privately wondering whether Julia had taken leave of her senses. ‘I can well understand why your mama should be concerned about an attachment there. It must be a terrible affliction.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ sighed Julia, ‘although he manages his affairs tolerably well. But you must agree that it was am
azingly brave of Edward to fight and injure himself in such a way – fighting for his country. It is more than his brother would do, that’s for sure. Henry has not joined the army. Yet it is Henry who inherited the estates. It all seems terribly unfair to me. But then, I never did understand the nature of justice and I do not expect to do so now.’

  Lydia was impressed, if somewhat amused, by such hitherto unsuspected depths of feeling in her pretty younger cousin.

  ‘But you would not expect the older brother to fight?’

  ‘Lord no, of course not. It is only to be expected that he will get involved in running his estates and that sort of thing. But Henry – well, Henry scarcely seems to bother much about that. He is not often to be seen at Grantham and seems more interested in gallivanting about Town, showing off his clothes and probably becoming involved in gambling and milling, like my brother, and all the other activities that Corinthians get involved in.’

  ‘So he is a Corinthian, is he, Mr Churchman?’

  Lydia was faintly amused.

  ‘I believe he is reckoned so, although I confess I know very little about such things. I try to avoid him if I can, for I find him quite starchy and he seems quite determined to prevent my attachment to Edward. He is nothing like his brother at all.’

  ‘Yet I suppose that your mama would not disapprove of an understanding with Mr Henry Churchman?’

  ‘Lord, Lydia – Heaven forbid such a thing,’ retorted Julia, evidently much repelled by such a suggestion. ‘Henry Churchman cannot hold a candle to Edward. But you are right, of course. It is Henry whom mama would like me to marry and the reason she encourages such intercourse between our families. Her compliance is most convenient at the present, of course, for I am able to see more of Edward that I could have hoped for otherwise, but I dread to think what will happen when she gets to know the truth.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that. I must say I do not envy you at all. I can think of no situation more likely to incur your mama’s wrath than an understanding of which she disapproves. Yet Edward sounds a worthy young man and from what you say it seems that she does not suspect the truth at the moment. You never know how things will turn out. Why,’ she added, as a look of dejection crossed Julia’s little face, ‘if Mr Henry Churchman is as keen on milling as I understand is generally the case with Corinthians he may well meet with an even more unfortunate accident than Mr Edward – in which case I feel persuaded of your mama’s speedy approval of your marriage. So let us wish for the early demise of Mr Churchman so that the more worthy brother may inherit his estates!’