Venetia

by Джорджетт Хейер

  Having succeeded in slightly mollifying these important members of the household Venetia prepared to grapple with the far more difficult task of persuading Aubrey to behave at least with propriety towards his sister-in-law and her mama. He had driven off to the stables without having uttered one word, and Venetia had thought it prudent to refrain from making any attempt to detain him. She guessed that he must have come into the house through the garden-door, and went to look for him in the library, reflecting, as she walked down the broad passage that led to it from the front hall, that a very little of Mrs. Scorrier’s somewhat overpowering personality would suffice to turn Aubrey into as obstinate a recluse as ever his father had been. As she had expected, he was in the library. He had obviously been awaiting her appearance with a good deal of impatience, for he demanded almost before she had shut the door into the ante-room: “What have you done with them? Do you believe such a tale? I don’t! Even Conway couldn’t serve us such a trick!”

  “That was my own thought,” she admitted. “But it won’t do, love: it must be true! A horrid shock, wasn’t it? I don’t yet know how we are to make the best of it, but that’s what we must do.”

  “Don’t you know? Then I’ll tell yon! We’ll set up house for ourselves—exactly as you planned to do in this event!”

  “Yes, of course, but we can’t do so immediately, my dear! You must perceive how impossible it would be! Until Conway returns I’m responsible for Undershaw.”

  “And failing you, Mytchett!” he said swiftly. “Conway empowered both of you to act for him. I remember Mytchett’s coming here to discuss the terms of the power of attorney with you before he sent it to Conway to be signed!”

  “To be sure he did, but that was because he knew he was very much fitter than I to take care of the invested capital, and, of course, any legal business that might arise. He did not bargain to have all the everyday affairs of the estate thrust upon him as well. Besides, Aubrey, we could not leave Undershaw the instant Conway’s wife entered it! It would be most improper, and unkind as well.”

  “As improper and as unkind as to have foisted her on to us without one word of warning?”

  “Well, I fancy that wasn’t her fault. In fact, I’m sure of it. Poor creature, she is so much mortified she dare hardly speak above a whisper! I am very sorry for her. And I don’t find her in the least objectionable, love: she seems to be a gentle, shy sort, of a girl, and I daresay we shall soon grow to be very much attached to her.”

  “Do you? And as for her mother, I collect we shall positively dote on her!”

  She laughed. “For my part, no! A detestable woman—she has set up the servants’ backs already, and mine too, a little! But I don’t mean to show her anything but civility, and I beg you won’t either!”

  He looked at her out of narrowed eyes, but said nothing. The most she could wring from him was a promise that he would say nothing uncivil to Mrs. Scorrier unless she offered him provocation, and with this she had to try at least to be satisfied. But as what Aubrey might regard as provocation depended to a large extent upon his mood her expectations were not high; and it was with considerable foreboding that she took him to the drawing-room to be formally introduced.

  They found the two ladies discussing tea and macaroons. Mrs. Scorrier welcomed Venetia into the room with a gracious smile, saying: “Such delicious tea, dear Miss Lanyon! I must really ask the housekeeper where she procures it.” She then saw that Aubrey had entered the room in his sister’s wake, and included him in her welcome. He bowed rather stiffly, and shook hands with her before turning to Charlotte, and saying: “How do you do? How did you leave my brother! Will he soon be following you?”

  “I don’t know—I hope—I did not like to leave him, but Mama thought—”

  “Mama thought that her daughter would be very much better away from the hurly-burly of Cambray!” interrupted Mrs. Scorrier, with the laugh that was already beginning to irritate Venetia. “Your brother will certainly be at home by the end of the year, for the Duke means to begin removing the Army at the beginning of next month. Miss Lanyon, I have been saying to Charlotte what a pretty room this is! Quite charming, indeed, and wants nothing but fresh hangings to make it as elegant a saloon as any I have seen.”

  Venetia was a little taken aback by this, but replied with composure, and, in the hope that if she could engage Mrs. Scorrier in conversation Aubrey and Charlotte might become acquainted, sat down beside her on the sofa.

  Mrs. Scorrier was perfectly ready to talk, and soon showed that she possessed the ability to maintain more than her share of one conversation while interpolating remarks every now and then into another. Whatever was addressed to her daughter she answered, and whatever Charlotte said she either corrected or amplified. Her manner was good-humoured, she smiled almost continuously, but it was not long before Venetia became convinced that she was being regarded with suspicious hostility. Mrs. Scorrier was lavish in paying her compliments, but contrived at the same time to disparage; and Venetia, who had never before encountered her like, was puzzled to account for her attitude. She seemed to be determined to see in her daughter’s sister-in-law a foe whom it was necessary to overcome; and by talking about the changes Charlotte would no doubt inaugurate at Undershaw, and assuring Venetia how well she understood what must be her feelings at being obliged to hand over the reins of government to another, she made it plain that she was very jealous of Charlotte’s rights, and very ready to do battle in defence of them.

  At the end of nearly an hour, when Mrs. Gurnard came in, at her most stately, to offer to conduct the two ladies to their respective bedchambers, Venetia knew that the comfort of Undershaw was over, and that the immediate future promised nothing but strife and vexation. In addition to her hostility Mrs. Scorrier possessed a managing disposition, and an uncontrollable desire to show everyone, from Venetia down to the gardener’s boy, a better way of performing any given ‘ task, whether it was the direction of a household or the preservation of geraniums. Even the cook, whose macaroons Mrs. Scorrier had declared to be as good as Gunter’s, was to be given a recipe which would be found to be superior; and, as though the mental vision conjured up by this promise was not horrid enough, she further promised to furnish Venetia with the name of an excellent surgeon who, she had no doubt at all, would know just what to do to cure Aubrey’s lameness. Venetia acquitted her of malice, but found no difficulty in understanding why it was that so many people had (according to herself) so frequently behaved disgracefully to her.

  Once she was assured that the bedchamber prepared for Charlotte had been occupied by her predecessor she was pleased to approve of it; but when Venetia smiled at Charlotte, and said: “You will tell me, won’t you, if you have not everything you need?” she shook a reproving finger, and said in a rallying tone: “No, no, Miss Lanyon, don’t, I beg of you, encourage my lazy little puss to depend on you! I have been telling her that now she is a married lady and the mistress of her own house she must learn to give her own orders, and not rely upon me, or you, to manage for her.”

  When Venetia presently left her own room, and went downstairs again, she found Charlotte seated alone in the drawing-room. She was elegantly dressed in an evening-gown of silk with a demi-train, but she looked far more like a scared schoolgirl than a fashionable matron, and she instinctively rose to her feet as soon as she saw Venetia. Glad to have an opportunity of talking to her without the intervention of Mrs. Scorrier, Venetia exerted herself to put her at her ease. She was only partially successful, and soon realized that while Charlotte’s pliant disposition and amiability of temper made her anxious to please, these meek attributes also made it impossible for her to withstand the domination of her strongminded mother. If she had put it into words (a feat of which she was wholly incapable) that Mrs. Scorrier had warned her to beware of her sister-in-law, that fact could not have been more evident; and since she had neither a sense of humour nor the habit of plain speaking, Venetia’s smiling request that she might not be regard
ed as an ogress merely served to cast her into incoherent embarrassment. Only when she spoke of Conway did she become at all natural, and forget her shyness in hero-worship. He was a demi-god who had miraculously fallen in love with her; the very thought of his magnificence made her cheeks glow, and her soft eyes shine; and in recounting his daring deeds and sage utterances she grew quite animated.

  Venetia might be amused by this unrecognizable portrait of her brother but she was also touched, and readily perceived what it was that had attracted Conway to this somewhat insipid girl. She said kindly: “It must have made you very unhappy to have been obliged to leave him. I do most sincerely feel for you!”

  Tears sprang to Charlotte’s eyes. “Oh, it was so dreadful! I didn’t wish to go, but he thought it the only thing, because Colonel Skidby was uncivil to Mama, which made it so very awkward for Conway, because of course Mama wouldn’t submit to being insulted, and so we couldn’t invite the Colonel to our parties, which made it excessively uncomfortable for Conway! Only fancy! that horrid man spread the most untruthful tales about poor Mama, and a great many people believed him, and took his part, and behaved very unkindly, so that she was positively obliged to tell Lord Hill the whole story, which made Conway say that—which made him think that it would be best if we came back to England!” She ended this impulsive recital on an apprehensive note, and added hurriedly: “And, besides that, I was not very well!”

  “I don’t wonder at it!” said Venetia, a merry twinkle in her eye. “In your place I rather think I should have taken to my bed! I can conceive of nothing worse than finding oneself in the centre of a quarrel.”

  “Oh, it was so dreadful!” said Charlotte involuntarily, and shuddering at the recollection. “It made me quite hysterical, so of course Mama would not leave me—not that there was any question—for I am sure I could never bear to be parted from her, and particularly when I’m feeling poorly!” She began to pleat her handkerchief, and said haltingly: “Mama—Mama sometimes says things—but she doesn’t mean them—and she has had a great deal to bear, because Papa was not wealthy, and his family behaved in such a disagreeable way, taking my Aunt Elizabeth’s part when she was rude to poor Mama, and not making her beg pardon, so that there was nothing for Mama to do but to cut the connection. And then Papa died of fever, which he contracted in the Peninsula, for he was a military man, like Conway, you know, and so Mama had only my sister and me to live for.”

  “Have you just the one sister?” enquired Venetia, unable to think of a suitable comment to make on Mrs. Scorrier’s trials.

  “Yes, my sister Fanny. She is older than I am, but we were the greatest friends! It was so sad! She was married two years ago, and has a dear little baby, which I have never seen, because my brother-in-law, whom we had thought to be a most amiable man, has such a jealous disposition that he was quite unpleasant to Mama when we went to stay with him and Fanny, and said he would not have her meddling and making trouble in his house, only because she thought it her duty to advise my sister to turn off the housekeeper, who was quite shockingly extravagant, and even, Mama suspected, dishonest!”

  Before Venetia had well recovered from the effects of this artless speech Mrs. Scorrier had entered the room, and the impulse to warn Charlotte that any attempt to rid Undershaw of its housekeeper could only lead to the discomfiture of her mama had to be abandoned.

  Mrs. Scorrier came in all affability, and full of brisk plans for the future. She seemed to have extracted from the housemaid sent by Mrs. Gurnard to wait on her every detail of the organization of Undershaw, and she saw much room for improvement. What was very proper for an unmarried female living in retirement with her brother would by no means do for Lady Lanyon. In particular did her consequence require that there should be two uniformed men-servants under the butler; but Miss Lanyon must not be thinking that this need mean any considerable increase in expenditure, for (if she might venture to say so) she believed that the number of females employed in the house was excessive. “Not that I mean to say that you have not managed very creditably, my dear Miss Lanyon,” she assured Venetia kindly. “Indeed, I must own I am most agreeably surprised by all I have seen, and can truthfully say that you have no need to blush for your housekeeping.”

  “None at all!” agreed Venetia, amusement quivering in her voice. “Though I might blush to accept a compliment that is due to another! Mrs. Gurnard has been housekeeper at Undershaw since before I was born.” She turned her head to address Charlotte, saying lightly: “I expect she will wish to conduct you through every department of the house tomorrow. Don’t mind it if she should seem a trifle stiff! She will very soon take to you when she sees that you don’t mean to upset all her economies and arrangements. Talk to her about Conway! She dotes on him, you know—even allows him to call her his dear old Gurney, which I should never dare to do. She will very likely present you with her keys. I’ve no need to warn you, I’m persuaded, that you must beg her to keep them!”

  “Oh, no! I should not dream of—”

  “Well, as to that, my love,” interrupted Mrs. Scorrier, “I believe it is best to begin as you mean to continue. It is very natural that Miss Lanyon should be shy of asserting herself, having known the woman for so long, but for you it is another matter. It is always the same with old retainers! They are quick to take advantage, and become perfect tyrants. If you will be advised by me, my dear—”

  “She’d do better to be advised by my sister,” said Aubrey, who had entered the room in time to hear this interchange. “Lord, what a dust Conway would kick up if he came home to find Mrs. Gurnard had left Undershaw in a pelter!”

  The thought of Conway’s displeasure made Charlotte turn pale, and even seemed to give Mrs. Scorrier pause. She countented herself with saying: “Well, we shall see,” but although the smile remained firmly pinned to her lips the glance she cast at Aubrey was by no means amiable. Venetia could only pray that she would not offer him any further provocation.

  The prayer was not answered, and long before dinner came to an end it must have been apparent to anyone acquainted with Aubrey that he had decided to war. Upon entering the dining-room, and finding that she was expected to sit at the head of the table, Charlotte had hung back, stammering with instinctive good feeling: “Oh, pray—! That is where you are used to sit, Miss Lanyon, is it not? If you please, I would by far rather not take your place!”

  “But I would far rather not take yours!” returned Venetia. “I wish, by the way, that you will call me Venetia!”

  “Oh, yes! Thank you, I should be very happy! But pray won’t you—”

  “My dear Charlotte, Miss Lanyon will think you are quite gooseish if you don’t take care!” said Mrs. Scorrier. “She is very right, and you need have no scruples, I assure you.” She flashed a particularly wide smile at Venetia, and added: “It is the fate of sisters, is it not, to be obliged to take second place when their brothers marry?”

  “Undoubtedly, ma’am.”

  “Doing it rather too brown, m’dear!” said Aubrey, a glint in his eye. “You’ll still be first in consequence at Undershaw if you eat your dinner in the kitchen, and well you know it!”

  “What a devoted brother!” remarked Mrs. Scorrier, with a slight titter.

  “What a nonsensical one!” retorted Venetia. “Do you like to sit near the fire, ma’am, or will you—”

  “Mrs. Scorrier ought to sit at the bottom of the table,” said Aubrey positively.

  “You mean the foot of the table: opposite to the head, you understand,” said Mrs. Scorrier instructively.

  “Yes, of course,” replied Aubrey, looking surprised. “Did I say bottom? I wonder what made me do that?”

  Venetia asked Charlotte if she had enjoyed her visit to Paris. It was the first of the many hasty interventions she felt herself obliged to make during the course of what she afterwards bitterly described as a truly memorable dinner-party, for while Aubrey offered no unprovoked attacks he was swift to avenge any hint of aggression. Since he made
it abundantly plain that he had constituted himself his sister’s champion, and won every encounter with the foe, Venetia could only suppose that Mrs. Scorrier was either very stupid, or compelled by her evil genius to court discomfiture. She really seemed to be incapable of resisting the temptation to depress Venetia’s imagined pretensions, so the dining-room rapidly became a battlefield on which (Venetia thought, with an irrepressible gleam of amusement) line inevitably demonstrated its superiority to column. Unable to counter Aubrey’s elusive tactics, Mrs. Scorrier attempted to give him a heavy set-down. Bringing her determined smile to bear on him she told him that no one would ever take him and Conway for brothers, so unlike were they. What unflattering comparisons she meant to draw remained undisclosed, for Aubrey instantly said, with a touch of anxiety: “No, I don’t think anyone could, do you, ma’am? He has the brawn of the family, I have the brain, and Venetia has the beauty.”

  After this it was scarcely surprising that Mrs. Scorrier rose from the table with her temper sadly exacerbated. When she disposed herself in a chair by the drawing-room fire there was a steely look in her eyes which made her daughter quake, but her evident intention of making herself extremely unpleasant was foiled by Venetia’s saying that since it behoved her to write two urgent letters she hoped Charlotte would forgive her if she left her until tea-time to the comfort of a quiet evening with only her mama for company. She then left the room, and went to join Aubrey in the library, saying, with deep feeling, as she entered that haven: “Devil!”