Venetia

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “Yes,” she acknowledged. “But it won’t be for long, I trust, and perhaps, if I can but persuade her that I haven’t the least desire to usurp Charlotte’s place, we may contrive to rub along tolerably well.”

  XIII

  Venetia’s optimism was soon found to have been misplaced. Within ten minutes of Damerel’s departure hostilities had been resumed, Mrs. Scorrier, her eyes gleaming with righteous wrath, seeking her out to demand whether it was true that she had not only welcomed his lordship to Undershaw, but had actually presented him to Charlotte. She had been unable (she said) to credit her ears when Charlotte had informed her of this shocking incident; and while she had discovered already that Miss Lanyon behaved with what to her possibly outdated notions of propriety was unbecoming license, she had not supposed she was so lacking in prudence and delicacy as to permit a man of Lord Damerel’s reputation to set foot within the grounds of Undershaw, much less to introduce him to her brother’s innocent bride.

  Whatever qualms Venetia might, upon sober reflection, have felt on the wisdom of making Damerel acquainted with Charlotte (since to be on calling terms with him could scarcely add to her credit in the district) vanished in a leaping flame of anger. She retorted swiftly: “Dear me, ma’am, do you consider Charlotte to be in danger of succumbing to his charms? I should have supposed her to be far too deep in love with my brother—but must bow to your better knowledge of her!”

  “Miss—Lanyon!” ejaculated Mrs. Scorrier.

  “Well?” said Venetia, deceptively cool.

  Mrs. Scorrier drew an audible breath. “I ignore your impertinence. It is quite beneath my notice. But I would have you to know that for a modest female in my daughter’s situation—a stranger to this part of the country, and coming to it without the protection of her husband—to be receiving in her house a man of ill-repute would be grossly improper. Of the impropriety of a single female’s claiming friendship with such a person I say nothing!”

  “How should you, indeed? My credit won’t suffer, ‘after all! But for the rest you are very right: it was shockingly thoughtless of me, and I beg your pardon! In the circumstances, Charlotte cannot be too careful, of course. When one thinks how much scandal-broth must already be brewing— oh, have no fear, ma’am! I will tell Damerel he must on no account divulge to anyone that he has even clapped eyes on Charlotte!”

  Unbecomingly flushed Mrs. Scorrier said in a voice tight with suppressed fury: “Indeed! Indeed, Miss Lanyon? So you fancy your credit won’t suffer? You are strangely mistaken, let me tell you!” She paused, and Venetia waited, her brows slightly raised, a little contemptuous smile on her lips. It seemed to her that a struggle was taking place in Mrs. Scorrier’s bosom; it certainly heaved alarmingly; but after a tense moment or two that lady turned abruptly on her heel, and stalked out of the room.

  Venetia discovered that she was trembling, and was obliged to sit down. It was some time before she was able to recover her composure, and longer still before she could bring herself to acknowledge that the reproof, however offensively delivered, was not wholly without justification, and be sorry for her own loss of temper. She did at last realize it, and, after a struggle quite as severe as any Mrs. Scorrier had engaged in, went to offer the lady an apology. It was received with a cold bow, and closely folded lips.

  “I ought not to have allowed my indignation to overpower me, ma’am,” Venetia persevered. “I should rather have explained to you that Lord Damerel has been so good a friend to Aubrey that to hear him abused was rather too much for me to bear with patience.”

  “We will not discuss the matter, Miss Lanyon. I trust, however, that you will make it plain to Lord Damerel that his visits to Undershaw must cease.”

  “No,” said Venetia gently. “I shall not do that, but you need be under no apprehension, ma’am: when he comes it will be to see Aubrey, not Charlotte.”

  To this Mrs. Scorrier vouchsafed no other answer than a glance which assured Venetia that it would henceforward be war to the knife between them.

  It was the prelude to a week more nearly resembling a nightmare than any Venetia had ever endured. Mrs. Scorrier, abandoning affability, spoke to her as seldom as need be, and then with formal civility; but while contriving largely to ignore her lost no opportunity that presented itself to vex her. If she could find no household custom to overset she discussed with Charlotte, in Venetia’s presence, the changes that must be made in the management and economy of Undershaw. Charlotte, rendered acutely uncomfortable by these tactics, yet lacked the strength of character to combat them. She murmured a few feeble expostulations sometimes, but for the most part gave only monosyllabic answers, and looked miserable. On the rare occasions when Aubrey was present he used his deadly tongue with such excoriating effect that Venetia begged him to keep away from the drawing-room.

  To make matters worse, the domestic staff, warmly espousing Venetia’s cause, demonstrated a stubborn loyalty by referring to Venetia the most trivial order received from Mrs. Scorrier. “I will mention the matter to Miss Venetia, ma’am,” was the invariable response she received; and when she imprudently commanded Fingle to bring the phaeton round to the house to take her ladyship for a gentle airing his answer was even more forthright. “I take my orders from Mr. Aubrey, ma’am,” said that blunt Yorkshireman. Before Mrs. Scorrier could find Venetia, to lodge a complaint with her, she was herself sought out by Aubrey, who conveyed to her the unpalatable information that Fingle was his personal groom, and that he would be obliged to her if she would in future deliver her orders to William Coachman, whose business it was to drive the ladies of the establishment out, not in the phaeton, which again belonged to him and he would let none but Venetia drive, but in the barouche.

  To all Venetia’s protests her champions turned deaf ears; they had determined on their course, and they pursued it with enthusiasm. The better part of her time was consequently spent either in endorsing Mrs. Scorrier’s commands, or in the hopeless attempt to reconcile bitter opponents.

  For Mrs. Scorrier the situation was rendered the more exacerbating by Nurse, who, while paying no heed to her at all, was rapidly acquiring a most undesirable influence over Charlotte. In this she was assisted by the superior Miss Trossell, who was so unfavourably impressed by the Yorkshire scene, and the lack of genteel society at Undershaw, that within twenty-four hours of her arrival she declared her inability to face the rigours of life in the country, adding a strong hint that she had been lured to Yorkshire under false pretences. There was just enough insolence in her tone to rouse Mrs. Scorrier to wrath, and after a stormy scene Miss Trossell departed incontinent, being conveyed to York in the degrading gig, and sped on her way by an assurance from Nurse that her loss would not be felt.

  Nor was it; for infinitely preferable to Charlotte were the attentions of Nurse, who scolded, and bullied her, but took a warm interest in her well-being, knew just what to do for her when she felt queasy, and would spend hours talking about Conway, or discussing the future of Conway’s son. Charlotte was never so happy as when resting in her room, with Nurse sewing beside the fire, and the door shut against intruders. Nurse had no sympathy to waste on nervous qualms, or fits of depression: she said: “Now, that’s quite enough of that nonsense, my lady I” and: “You put your trust in the Almighty, my lady, and do what Nurse says, and you won’t have any need to fidget yourself.” But Nurse also unearthed Conway’s christening robe, and as many of his caps and petticoats as had survived Aubrey’s infancy; and made cosy plans for the redecoration of the nurseries. She told Charlotte not to fret about the alarming month-nurse interviewed by Mrs. Scorrier in London, because she knew of a very decent woman living in York; and as for accoucheurs, she wanted to hear no more talk about any Dr. Knightons (whoever he might be), because Dr. Cornworthy, also of York, had brought quite as many babies into the world as any grand London practitioner, and very likely more; and in any event her ladyship would trust Nurse to know what was best for her, and busy herself instead with stitching
a cap for the Heir.

  Under this bracing treatment Charlotte revived, only to be thrown back by the nervous strain imposed on her by her mama’s determination to gain the upper hand of Venetia. She lived in sick apprehension of just such a scene as she most dreaded; and after an evening of more than ordinary tension had to be scolded by Nurse out of a fit of mild hysterics. This episode led Nurse to take Mrs. Scorrier severely to task; and as her homily included the information that a dry morsel and quietness therewith was better than a house full of sacrifices and strife, it was hardly surprising that it resulted in a sharp skirmish. Mrs. Scorrier, already jealous of Nurse’s influence over Charlotte, told her, with a smile more menacing than amiable, that she would be extremely sorry if she were obliged to recommend her daughter to send her away from Undershaw. She had no real intention of making such an attempt, for she knew very well that old and faithful retainers could not be dismissed, however irritatingly they behaved. She uttered the threat in the hope of intimidating Nurse, but its only effect was to afford Nurse with an opportunity to put her in possession of a fact which made it almost impossible for her to meet Venetia thereafter with even the appearance of complaisance.

  “Well, and so I should think, ma’am!” said Nurse. “Where would be the sense in teasing her ladyship to do what she’s got no power to do, and wouldn’t do if she had?” She eyed Mrs. Scorrier’s stiffening countenance with grim satisfaction, and delivered a leveller. “It’s Miss Venetia as is mistress of Undershaw, ma’am, as even the scullery-maid is well aware of, and has a lawyer’s piece with a seal on it, and signed by Sir Conway, to prove it.”

  Since Conway had omitted to tell his mother-in-law that he had given Venetia a power of attorney, and she, by some unaccountable oversight, had never considered the probability that he should have done so, this disclosure filled her with wrath which was none the less violent for being impotent. All she could think of to do by way of immediate revenge was to suggest to Charlotte at dinner that evening that she should adopt the library to her own use, since it was quite the best room in the house, and would, from its secluded position, sunny aspect, and door into the garden, provide any lady in delicate health with an admirable retreat. But this amiable scheme to enrage Aubrey (and through him Venetia) was foiled by Charlotte, who stood in even greater awe of Aubrey than of her mother, and hastily stammered out a repudiation of any desire to evict him from his stronghold. As she added that she much preferred even the smallest of the several parlours to it there was no more to be said, except by Aubrey, who cordially invited Mrs. Scorrier to come and try for herself how comfortable the room was.

  Letters from Conway did nothing to improve matters, and gratified none but Charlotte, who received two whole sheets covered, and even crossed, with his sprawling writing, and went about the house for days in a glow of rapture. But as the letter, so far from containing a revocation of that infamous power of attorney, adjured Charlotte not to trouble her pretty head about anything whatsoever, but to leave everything to Venetia, whom he depended on to save his darling the least care or disagreeable exertion, it brought no pleasure to Mrs. Scorrier, but rather aggravated her annoyance, and confirmed her in her determination to rid her daughter of a sister-in-law who enjoyed far too much of her brother’s confidence.

  Venetia also received a letter from Conway, which, as she told Damerel, would have put her in a towering passion had it not been so irresistibly funny. Exhausted by the labour of composing so handsome a letter to his bride Conway had confined himself to a single sheet in writing to his sister, excusing this brevity on the score of the press of work entailed by the imminent evacuation of the Army of Occupation. He neither explained his sudden marriage nor made the slightest apology for foisting a total stranger upon her without a word of warning. He knew that Venetia could not fail to be pleased with his Charlotte, and depended on her to take the greatest care of her. A dispassionate person, reading this missive, could scarcely have been blamed for supposing that Sir Conway had planned the whole affair with the object of giving his dearest sister a delightful surprise.

  Venetia received another letter besides Conway’s, but not through the medium of the post. It was brought over from Netherford by one of Edward Yardley’s grooms, covered several sheets, and afforded her even less gratification than Conway’s short note, since she found nothing in it that tickled her sense of humour. Though surprised and shocked by the news of Conway’s marriage Edward was apparently deriving consolation from the conviction that Venetia must be happy in the companionship of her sister-in-law, and his own relief at the knowledge that in Mrs. Scorrier she had at last acquired an eligible chaperon. After moralizing for two pages on the evils of Venetia’s previous situation, he covered two more with some very sensible advice to her (for he perfectly understood, he assured her, that she might find it difficult, at first, to accustom herself to the change in her circumstances) and an exact description of his own state of health. He ended by deploring that it was not in his power to visit Undershaw, to pay his compliments to Lady Lanyon, and to fortify Venetia with such guidance and counsel as he could give: not only was there still nearly a week to run before he could emerge from quarantine, but she would be sorry to learn that he had developed a cough, which, though slight, was occasioning some disquiet in his mother’s mind. He begged Venetia not to be alarmed, however, since she might depend on him to incur no foolish risks. She would not be surprised to learn, he fancied, that the news that Conway must soon be at home again had done almost as much to hasten his recovery as any of Mr. Huntspill’s excellent prescriptions.

  Venetia rode over to Ebbersley to spend one day with Lady Denny, but although the respite from the frets and animosities at Undershaw did her good her visit was not one of unalloyed pleasure. One glance at Clara’s face was enough to confirm her in the belief that more had passed between her and Conway than her parents had suspected. So indeed she had now confessed, as Lady Denny presently disclosed to her young friend, in reluctant answer to a blunt question. “Yes, my dear, I am afraid you were right,” she said. “But as for thinking that Conway was in any way bound to Clara, pray put such a notion out of your head! I need not tell you what were my feelings when I learned that a daughter of mine had behaved with such impropriety, and as for Sir John, I promise you I never saw him more confounded in my life! For, you know, my love, to be exchanging promises with a man without the consent or knowledge of her parents shows such a want of conduct as I had not thought it possible I could discover in Clara! Indeed, it is even worse, for Sir John had expressly forbidden any such exchanges, not because he would not have been very well pleased with the match, but because he judged them both to be too young to enter upon an engagement. If poor Clara had but realized then that her papa knew best, how much pain she would have been spared now!She is very sensible of how deeply she erred, so we don’t reproach her.”

  “Conway deserves to be flogged!” exclaimed Venetia.

  “No, my dear, that fault was Clara’s, though I don’t deny that he did not behave just as he ought. But young men don’t take such affairs as seriously as you perhaps suppose, and of one thing you may be sure! he neither suggested nor attempted to carry on a clandestine correspondence with Clara!”

  “Oh, yes, I am very sure of that!” said Venetia. “Only to think I should live to be thankful he is an illiterate! I wish I might congratulate Clara upon her good fortune, but I collect she does not yet see what an escape she has had!”

  “No, and we have agreed amongst ourselves that it is a case of the least said the soonest mended. We think that a change of scene would benefit her, and have planned to send her on a visit to her grandmama. Oh dear, if one knew the trouble one’s children would be to one!” sighed Lady Denny. “First it was Oswald, and now it is Clara, and next, depend upon it, it will be Emily!”

  “Dear ma’am, if you are imagining that there was anything more to Oswald’s fancy for me than a fit of boy’s nonsense I promise you there was not!” said Venetia, with
her usual frankness. “He certainly made a great goose of himself, but wrote me a very handsome apology, so that I am in perfect charity with him.”

  “It is like your sweet nature to say so, my love,” replied Lady Denny, blinking rather rapidly, “but I know very well that he must have behaved most improperly to you, besides vexing Lord Damerel, the very thought of which quite dismayed me!”

  “Now, that I am very sure he did not!” declared Venetia. “So Lord Damerel told Sir John,” said her ladyship, with unabated gloom. “Sir John, chancing to meet him the other day, asked him to his head if Oswald had been causing him annoyance, and he replied immediately, Not at all! which convinced Sir John that it was only too true.”

  Venetia could not help laughing at this, but she assured her old friend that Oswald had rather amused than annoyed Damerel. Lady Denny remarked with some feeling that it was small comfort to know that one’s only son was setting up as a laughing-stock; but she did seem to derive some comfort from the knowledge, for she made a determined effort to overcome her despondency, and demanded from Venetia an account of the happenings at Undershaw. She was not deceived by the comical aspect which Venetia took care to stress, but expressed her opinion of Mrs. Scorrier’s conduct in unusually forthright terms, and adjured Venetia not to hesitate, should that Creature become outrageous, to pack up her trunks and come at once to Ebbersley.

  “I shall pay Lady Lanyon a bride-visit, of course,” she said, with quiet dignity. “Pray, my dear, present my compliments to her, and explain to her that I am prevented at the moment from giving myself the pleasure of making her acquaintance by the illness in my house. Would you believe it, Venetia?—Cook has thrown out a rash this very day!”

  On this calamitous note they parted; and it was not until she had waved goodbye to Venetia that Lady Denny realized that her more pressing troubles had driven all thought of Venetia’s unfortunate tendre for Damerel out of her head. She now recalled that the look of radiance had disappeared from that lovely face, and although she was sorry for the cause she could not but hope that the infatuation which had set the girl in a glow had been as brief as it was violent. Much as she desired to alleviate Venetia’s present unhappiness she would have been appalled by the knowledge that only the dangerous rake’s presence in the district enabled Venetia to support her trials with smiling fortitude.