Lydia Trent (2 page)

The
complexity of her embroidery was in truth more an excuse to retire
into her own private thoughts than a way to occupy herself. By
affecting to be deep in the mysteries of counting stitches or
matching colours, she could avoid being obliged to make conversation.
On this occasion, however, she felt disposed to talk, or at least to
vent the ill-humour she seemed afflicted with this morning. At
breakfast time, amongst the various letters and invitations the
servant had laid on her plate, was one in a hand that was familiar to
her, but which she had not seen in many a long year. She had turned a
little pale as she noticed the direction, but had put it casually in
her pocket with the rest to read in private after breakfast. The
letter's contents had troubled her greatly, and now she sought to
dispel some of her anxiety.

“
Dear
me, Lydia, what a ridiculous choice of colour for poor-box work.
Scarlet, indeed! Why, before long you'll be tricking the pauper brats
out in muslin and spangles. And I do wish you would find a more
genteel occupation than knitting – poking away like an old farmer's
wife. I'm sure it isn't quite ladylike.”

“
Why,
it was my particular friend at Hastings House, Lady Sarah Clarendon,
who taught me how, Mamma.” returned Lydia mildly, for she had had
long practice in the soft answer that turneth away wrath. “And
scarlet does have the advantage of being such a warming colour.”

Before
Evelyn could think of a suitable reply to this, a smart double rap
was heard at the door.

“
I
expect that will be that infernal puppy of a Denham boy yet again.
Really, it is quite provoking the way he hangs about this house. I
beg that if you do plan to receive him you will take him into the
garden or the parlour – I have a sad headache this morning and
cannot bear company, least of all his.”

Lydia
merely bowed her head in acknowledgement, and a moment later the maid
appeared, close followed by Mr Alfred Denham himself, bringing a
breath of the fine summer morning with him.

“
Good
morning ladies, begging your pardon for the intrusion, Mrs Trent,
your devoted servant, Miss Trent. I came to see if anyone would care
to join me in a drive up to the Abbey – it's such a glorious day
for a drive.”

“
I
must beg to be excused, young man,” was Evelyn's ascerbic reply,
“but I'm sure both the girls would be most happy to join you.”

“
Thankyou
Mamma.” returned Lydia. “Yes, Mr Denham, a drive on this fine
morning sounds lovely. I'll just fetch my bonnet – and Adeline of
course. Is there nothing I can fetch you for your headache, Mamma?”

“
Nothing
at all – rest and
quiet
is all I need” - with an emphasis
on the second of those requirements and a pointed glare at Alfred.

At
that, Lydia politely took her leave of her stepmother and went in
search of Adeline. Alfred was to wait for them in the carriage,
where, as it was an open carriage, he took the liberty of lighting a
cigar, reasoning that young ladies who say they are just going to
fetch their bonnets have a tendency to take an unreasonably long time
in this simple operation, so he may as well be comfortable while he
waited. He was surprised, then, by the reappearance of Lydia, close
followed by Adeline, in something less than five minutes. Lydia had
in fact found her sister just emerging from her bedroom, already
dressed for walking.

“
I
heard the door, and surmised it would be Alfred asking us out on such
a lovely day” she explained, with an uncharacteristic air of
shyness.

Indeed,
Adeline's whole bearing was subtly different that day, as Alfred soon
discovered. She talked with less vivacity and more restraint than
usual, yet often he would turn to find her looking at him with an
unfathomable expression in her eyes. When surprised in these
scrutinies, she would blush charmingly and turn away with a stilted
remark on some feature of the landscape. Not being a vain man,
however, Alfred put this change down to a bad dinner or a sleepless
night on Adeline's part.

The
Abbey - more properly Tenwood Abbey – was a picturesque ruin some
six or seven miles from Allenham. Little remained of the ancient
fabric of the monastery, it having been heavily looted for stone in
the years succeeding the Dissolution, but a couple of walls still
stood, their niches and window-ledges now home to birds rather than
saints, and some fragments of the crumbling foundations could yet be
traced. Moreover, the peaceful solitude of the Abbey's situation, and
the charm of the road leading to it, winding through a pleasant green
valley as yet unspoiled by rushing railway or noisome factory, made
it a natural destination for the young people's summer drives.

The
conversation in the carriage was carried on chiefly between Lydia and
Alfred, although when the talk touched on books, poetry, or music,
subjects that were close to the sensitive, beauty-loving girl's
heart, Adeline was moved to make an occasional, and unusually shy,
contribution.

Seeing
Adeline's discomfiture, Lydia became concerned, and took advantage of
a pause in the conversation, whilst Alfred was distracted by the
undertaking of the manouvres necessary to pass a bulky farm-cart, to
make low-voiced enquiries about Adeline's health. Was anything amiss?
Was she in any way indisposed? Ought they to turn back?

“
Oh!
No – how could I possibly feel indisposed on such a heavenly day?
Pray put your mind at rest, Lyddy dear, I am quite well.” Then she
continued in a different, musing tone of voice, “Only – your
remarks yesterday afternoon did set me thinking so.”

It
was, in truth, a lovely day. Though it was late in June, the sun was
warm without being opressive, and a fresh breeze brought the soft
scents of grass and flowers. Bees drowsed among the hedgerows, and
cattle cropped lazily in verdant fields which resembled green skies
spangled with innumerable white and yellow stars. High above, a
skylark dropped in and out of sight, though it's song betrayed it's
presence even when the height of it's ascent had made it invisible
against the clear blue expanse.

“
You
ought not take my prosing so much to heart.” smiled Lydia,
surmising that today's change in manner was a result of yesterday's
warning against undue familiarity with the young man – and that
Adeline was trying to prove a point by coldness to him who had been
numbered amongst her dearest friends for so long.

The
refractory farm-cart was passed, the Abbey reached, and Alfred jumped
out of the carriage with the intention of handing out the girls, but
independent Lydia sprang down without waiting for his assistance.
Adeline hesitated a moment before placing her hand in his and
descending with a maidenly blush and murmured thanks. Few men could
be proof against such a manner, and Alfred unconsciously held on to
that fair hand for a moment longer than was strictly necessary,
causing yet a deeper blush and a moment's confusion on the part of
the damsel.

Lydia
came to the unwitting rescue by suggesting they walk to the furthest
part of the walls. On previous sorties to the Abbey, the little party
had amused themselves by attempting to trace out the ancient
foundations as far as they could, and settling amongst themselves how
the abbots, long since crumbled to dust, had lived there. She now
proposed they continue their researches, but Alfred instead advanced
the notion they refresh themselves with a light luncheon.

“
Why,
to tell the truth, driving in this delightful weather does make one a
little hungry,” exclaimed Lydia, “but how on Earth do you propose
to obtain supplies out here in the wilderness? I spy a farm over
yonder, but it is a stiffish walk across the fields, unless you
propose to go round two miles by road.”

“
My
dear Miss Trent,” returned Alfred with an air of mock pomposity,
“how typically feminine of you to assume that a gentleman, a mere
male of the species, could not possibly have thought of and prepared
for just such a contingency beforehand. Miss Trent, Miss Wade,
behold!” and sweeping a low, flourishing bow he produced a neat
basket from the carriage. Within a very few moments he had, by the
means of carriage rugs, prepared pleasant seats for the party on the
remains of a low, broad stone wall, shaded by an immense oak which
must have been a seedling long before the Abbey's first stones were
laid, and set out a delicate luncheon of cold chicken, cake and
fruit.

“
How
kind you are, Alf... Mr Denham.” said Adeline with one of her most
captivating shy smiles.

“
It
is my pleasure,” Alfred replied, “but I do not believe any man
living was ever christened by such an oddity of a name as Alfmister.”

At
this, Adeline lapsed once more into that unwonted confusion, which
Lydia swiftly covered by pressing her to try a peach, and asking
Alfred to kindly fetch her fan, which she believed had left behind in
the carriage.

The
three ate with the relish of the young, and then Lydia renewed her
scheme of investigating the foundations of the old building. Adeline
gently demurred – she would much rather sit here quietly and enjoy
the sunshine, she had provided herself with a book for this very
purpose, she did not believe they would ever settle the question to
their mutual satisfaction, and of all things a mystery, particularly
an insoluble mystery, was something to which she was indifferent. At
this, Alfred spoke warmly in defence of mysteries -

“
for
where would mankind be if, say, had not Sir Isaac solved the
mysteries of motion, Harvey the mysteries of the circulation of the
blood, or Stevenson and Trevithick the mysteries of steam
locomotion?”

“
And
even should a mystery prove insoluble,” added Lydia, “then one
may still be the gainer by the exercise of one's faculties of
reasoning and deduction.”

Being
unable to advance any argument that could sway these two true
believers, she begged that they would feel free to dig and delve
away, as she was perfectly contented to repose with her book.

Alfred
and Lydia spent a happy two hours poking amongst the ruins, enjoying
a lively debate about the significance of the square building whose
foundations they believed they had traced. Lydia was convinced of
it's having once been the chapterhouse, whilst Alfred stood out
equally strongly for it's having been one of the offices – in all
likelihood, he declared, the brewery. The dispute was backed up by
authorities from the pair's miscellaneous reading, but even as they
became conscious of the lateness of the afternoon they still could
not agree on the long-fallen building's original use, whether sacred
or profane. At the end of all they shook hands and agreed to differ,

“
For,
it may just as well have been a stable.” remarked Lydia
good-humouredly.

Adeline,
in the meantime, had been ostensibly occupied with her novel, but in
truth the open volume on her lap had today failed to engage her
attention. What did it matter to her if Lucilla Finch regained her
sight, while Adeline Wade was gaining a deeper insight into her own
heart? And so she drowsed the afternoon away, lost in her own
thoughts, and her eyes frequently wandering from the page to the two
figures over yonder. It must have been coincidence, surely, that the
upright, manly figure of Alfred should so often fall within her line
of sight.

Alfred
was, if no Adonis, well worth looking at. At twenty-five, he still
retained some of the air of a schoolboy. He was a little over the
average height, and somewhat slightly built – in the days when
Adeline had first made his aquaintance he might even have been
accused of lankiness. However, he had outgrown the hobbledehoy phase,
and his enthusiasm for the more athletic side of University life had
filled out his form, which was now manly and well-proportioned. An
open, pleasant countenance, intelligent eyes, a schoolboy smile and a
good deal of light brown hair completed the picture. In character he
was a similar mixture of manly virtues and old-fashioned courtesy,
and boyish mischief. He was intelligent, though somewhat inclined to
self-gratulation – he had not spent all his time at Oxford rowing
and boxing, and had in fact graduated creditably, though not at the
head of his class. He had inherited a modest fortune from his mother,
which rendered him, though not positively wealthy, to afford all the
necessities, and some few of the elegancies, of life. He had some
thought of studying the law, or of taking to the pen, but for now his
income was ample to his wants, and so the day when he would 'make
something of himself' was - always and always – tomorrow.

Though
Lydia and Alfred could not be brought into agreement on the subject
of the ruins, they were unanimous in their surprise at the lateness
of the hour, and the necessity of departing at once if they were to
be home in time for tea.

“
For
you know how much Mamma dislikes waiting.” observed Lydia.