Curricle & Chaise Read Free Page A

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