Venetia

by Джорджетт Хейер

  Venetia looked down at her in a little amusement. “Would it indeed? Well, ma’am, when Damerel came north it was to escape the efforts of his aunts to marry him to a lady of respectable birth and fortune, so that he might become reestablished in the eyes of the world. I don’t see how that was to be achieved if marriage to him meant her social ruin, and I can’t believe that the plot was being hatched without the knowledge and approval of Miss Ubley’s parents!”

  “What?” cried Mrs. Hendred, momentarily diverted. “Amelia Ubley? You don’t mean it!”

  “But I do mean it, so now, ma’am, will you explain to me how it comes about that though her credit would survive that marriage mine would not?”

  Mrs. Hendred’s brief period of relief was over. She stared at her niece with an expression on her face of absurd chagrin, fidgeted with her shawl, started several sentences, and finished none, and finally answered lamely: “The cases are not the same. Oh dear, now I wish—Venetia, you don’t understand these matters! Miss Ubley’s situation—the circumstances— Well, they are quite different!”

  “In what way?”

  “Oh—oh, in a hundred ways! Good gracious, for one thing she’s more than thirty years old, with a deplorable figure, besides a pug-nose, and she has a way of poking herself forward when she walks, and—oh, she was at her last prayers years ago! No one could blame Latchford for being thankful to accept any offer for her, particularly if the Damerel ladies mean to make him their heir, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least, now I come to think of it. And although I don’t mean to say Miss Ubley is not respectable, for she is dowdily respectable, naturally she cannot be thought an innocent, at her age, and having always lived in town, so that she must be up to snuff, as they say! But in your case, my dear, everyone knows what your circumstances have been, and how you cannot possibly have had any experience! And,” she added, with a flash of inspiration, “if Damerel were to marry you, everyone would say that it was the wickedest thing imaginable, and the most shocking take-in! I assure you, my love, there is something particularly repugnant in the marriage of a rake to a beautiful girl, years younger than himself, and perfectly innocent, as you are, my dear, whatever you may choose to say!”

  At the start of this speech a disquietingly confident smile glinted in Venetia’s eyes, but by the time Mrs. Hendred reached her triumphant conclusion it had faded. Anxiously observing her, Mrs. Hendred was thankful to see that she was now looking thoughtful, slightly frowning.

  Mrs. Hendred decided to pursue her advantage. “You, dear child, are not aware of the way such things are looked upon—indeed, I don’t know how you should be, any more than a nun!—but you may depend on it that he is!”

  Venetia glanced at her. “Yes,” she said slowly, remembering that interrupted scene in the library at Undershaw, and how troubled she had afterwards been by Damerel’s reluctance. You don’t realize what an advantage I should be taking of your innocence! he had said. “Yes,” she repeated. “I begin to see now ...”

  “I was persuaded you must, for you have such excellent good sense, my love!” said Mrs. Hendred, much heartened. “I know how it seems to you now, but you may believe me when I tell you that these things don’t endure. Oh, dear! I thought I should have died of despair when Mama—your grandmama, my dear—and Francis made me give up poor Sebastian! I cried for three days without ceasing, but in the end, you know, I was married to your uncle, and I am sure nothing could have been more comfortable!”

  “Did you never regret, ma’am?” asked Venetia, looking curiously at her.

  “Never!” declared Mrs. Hendred emphatically. “It would have been a shockingly bad match: he had no fortune—hardly a feather to fly with! Only think how disagreeable that would have been! Yes, and that puts me in mind of another thing, my love! Everyone says that Lord Damerel has brought a noble to ninepence with his extravagant ways, which makes him quite ineligible! Naturally, had he been wealthy the case might have been different, for, after all, a handsome fortune— But he has brought his to a nutshell, so there is nothing whatsoever to recommend him, and so he knows, for he said so to your uncle. You would be throwing yourself away, and though I myself very much doubt whether it can be brought about, he and your uncle are both of the opinion that you will make a splendid marriage. And no one, my dear niece, would be more pleased than I should be if you did!”

  “No one, however, would be less pleased than myself, ma’am.”

  “It is very proper you should say so,” said Mrs. Hendred approvingly. “Nothing is more unbecoming in a girl than to appear mercenary, or on the catch! For my part, I should be happy to see you married to a respectable man, of sufficient consequence, of course, and affluent enough to be able to provide you with the elegancies without which, I do assure you, life would be insupportable!”

  Venetia, who had paced over to the window, and back again, said: “It is going to be difficult. Yes, I see that now.”

  “No, no, dearest child! Not the least difficulty in the world! I only meant—”

  “To whistle happiness down the wind for a scruple!” Venetia said, unheeding. “To me that seems so absurd—so addle-brained—But that’s what he did, and if he has made up his mind to be idiotishly noble— Yes, it is going to be very difficult. I must think!”

  Quite forgetful of her aunt, she went quickly out of the room, leaving that harassed lady to reflections which were as uneasy as they were puzzled.

  XVIII

  Venturing, rather later, to renew her protests against the hiring of a house in Hans Town, Mrs. Hendred was at first thankful to discover that Venetia had abandoned her fell purpose, and then, when she had thought it over, apprehensive. She could not bring herself to believe that any representations of hers had brought about this sudden change; and the more she considered the matter the less did she like her niece’s readiness to relinquish a scheme to which she had all but committed herself. It had seemed almost as though she had forgotten the house in Hans Town, for upon the subject’s being broached she had stared for a moment, and then had said: “Oh—! That! No, no, ma’am, don’t be in a worry! I daresay you are quite right, and I shouldn’t like to live there at all.”

  Mrs. Hendred, with every reason to be satisfied with this answer, felt vaguely alarmed. It seemed to her not only that Venetia’s thoughts were far away, but that she was weaving some new plan. An attempt to discover what this might be failed: Venetia merely smiled, and shook her head, which made it seem unpleasantly probable that the new plan would prove to be quite as shocking as the old. Mrs. Hendred began to wish that her austere spouse had not gone into Berkshire; and during an unusually wakeful night even reached the stage of wondering whether it would not be as well to send a letter to him express. In the morning this desperate resolve seemed as foolish as it was imprudent, for what, after all, could Venetia be contemplating that would justify a summons to her uncle? Such a summons would displease him quite as much as the inevitable disclosure that his wife had told Venetia precisely what he had thought it best she should never know, for he had gone into Berkshire to attend the Quarter Sessions, which, since he was Custos Rotulorum and punctilious in the performance of his duty, he always made a point of doing, generally remaining for a full week. On this occasion, however, he had told his wife that she might expect to see him again within four or, at the most, five days, since he had engaged himself to attend a Party Meeting. Nothing, she thought, could happen in so short a period: in fact, it was hard to see how anything cataclysmic could happen at all. Venetia might be ready to count the world well lost for love, but she could hardly tell Damerel so. And even if she did tell him—not that Mrs. Hendred supposed that she would dream of behaving with such gross impropriety, however unconventional she might be—Damerel knew that for a young female of quality the world would not be at all well lost; and he had given Mr. Hendred his word as a gentleman that he would not propose marriage to Venetia. So there was really no danger threatening Mrs. Hendred’s peace of mind, and the night’s forebo
dings were possibly to be ascribed to the goose and turkey pie, of which she had partaken a little too freely at supper. Or perhaps it had been a mistake to have eaten mushroom fritters: mushrooms had never agreed with her delicate constitution, so she must remember to send a message to the artist ruling over her kitchens that they must in future be excluded from his luscious recipes.

  While Mrs. Hendred’s mind was drifting into gastronomy Venetia’s was employed in forming and discarding schemes for achieving social ruin. Quite as quickly as her aunt she had decided that to tell Damerel how little she cared for the world, or its opinion, would serve no useful purpose. He had from the start called her his green girl; instinct warned her that he would not think her matured by one month’s sojourn in London. She thought, but tenderly, that for all his wide experience of women he was as stupid as Edward Yardley, or her clever uncle. Because she had her knowledge of the world at secondhand he believed she knew her own heart no better, and had apparently convinced himself that within a measurable time of being plunged into fashionable circles she would not only be thankful to have escaped from—what had he called it?—the devil’s own scrape, but would be happily engaged to some virtuous young gentleman of birth, fortune, and consequence. That was bad enough: far worse—or, at any rate, more difficult to overcome—was the aspect put before her by her aunt. A worldly man, he knew what the world’s opinion would be of his marriage to herself: not only knew it, but shared it. He had told her that his depravity had stopped short of tampering with the young and innocent: marriage had not been his context, but she guessed that in just such a light did he regard it. He had placed her above his touch, and how to demonstrate that she was well within it was a problem that she could see no way of solving.

  She remembered that it was her plan of setting up house with Aubrey which had so nearly broken down his resolution. Anything were better than that! he had exclaimed. For a little while she played with the idea of immediately hiring the house in Hans Town, and writing off to tell Aubrey that she had done it. But that scheme was soon discarded with all the others, because she could not be quite sure that it was out of his power to scotch it. He had more influence over Aubrey than she had chosen to admit to Edward; moreover, since he seemed to have discussed her future with her uncle, he might rely on Mr. Hendred to scotch it for him. In course of time he could be made to realize that she preferred spinsterhood to the brilliant match he apparently believed to be her destiny, but she neither wished to languish until public opinion placed her on the shelf, nor did she cherish illusions about her love: not for him the life of a celibate, mourning his lost bride: he was very much more likely to seek forgetfulness in excess, and would probably be next heard of flaunting some dazzling lightskirt all over Europe. For the moment he was tied to Yorkshire by Aubrey’s presence in his house; but any day now Aubrey would leave the Priory, and then, Venetia thought, he would be lost to her indeed.

  Her fears and schemes left little room in her mind for minor considerations. She responded mechanically to her aunt’s suggestions for the day’s pleasures; accompanied her dutifully on a shopping expedition, and to a concert; her brain in a ferment while her lips uttered inane civilities. Mrs. Hendred, finding her in so complaisant a mood, brought up the subject of Edward’s projected party again, and was delighted to meet with no opposition. She suspected that Venetia hardly realized what had been said to her, but she was determined to hold her to the word she had given so abstractedly. Edward had invited them to dine at the Clarendon Hotel, and in Mrs. Hendred’s opinion this lavish gesture could not fail to recommend him to Venetia. The best and most expensive dinner in town was to be had there, for the cook was a Frenchman, and not less than £4 was the cost of quite a simple repast. Edward had invited Mr. Hendred too, but seldom had that dyspeptic gentleman refused an invitation with less regret. French dishes were no treat to him, and he had taken Edward in aversion. He said that a man who was prosy before he reached his thirtieth year would be intolerable long before he attained his fortieth; and that Venetia could do very much better for herself. So the party numbered three persons only, Edward having no acquaintance in town, and Mrs. Hendred not choosing to fill her husband’s place from her own large circle of friends. Even quite elderly gentlemen were more than likely to put forth their best efforts to captivate Venetia, and she wanted to introduce no rival to Edward into his party.

  The evening began well. No sooner did the maitre d’hotel realize that the gentleman from the country was entertaining that well-known epicure and leader of the ton, Mrs. Philip Hendred, and a perfectly ravishing young female, dressed in the first style of elegance, than he revised his previous plan, and bowed the party not to a secluded table in one corner of the room, but to one reserved for the most respected patrons, and himself presented Mr. Yardley with a large bill of fare. Between them, he and Mrs. Hendred selected a most succulent meal, which Mrs. Hendred was able to partake of without the smallest misgiving, because she had met Mr. Rogers that very day, and he had set her right about Lord Byron’s reducing diet: his lordship had not drunk vinegar, but soda-water, and what regimen could be easier to follow, when one was not particularly partial to wine? So the dinner passed off very successfully, and if Venetia contributed little to the conversation at least she responded with her lovely smile to any remark that was addressed to her. Probably Mr. Yardley was satisfied, for he had so much to impart to his guests about the various places of historic interest which he had been visiting that neither lady had much opportunity to say more than: “Indeed!” or: “How interesting, to be sure!”

  Mrs. Hendred’s town coach conveyed them to the theatre. Edward had procured a box, and Mrs. Hendred was glad to see that Venetia accepted with sweet, if slightly absent, complaisance all his solicitous efforts to secure her comfort. Venetia was, in fact, considering a new and extremely daring scheme, and throughout the first act of the play she sat wondering whether she could summon up the courage to present herself boldly to the eldest of Damerel’s aunts, disclosing all her story, and begging for her support. It was a desperate plan, and by the time the curtain fell a great many objections to it had presented themselves to her. She came out of her deep reverie to find that Edward was asking her how she liked the play. She returned a civil answer, and then sat looking idly round the house while he delivered himself of his own considered opinion.

  Her attention was almost immediately attracted to a box on the opposite side of the theatre. It had been empty until after the curtain had risen, but it was now occupied by a lady and gentleman of such modish appearance that many more eyes than Venetia’s were turned towards them. Neither was in the first blush of youth, the gentleman, indeed, bearing a strong resemblance to the Prince Regent. He had very much the same protuberant blue eyes, and florid complexion; he wore a coat of exaggerated cut, a splendid waistcoat, and his pantaloons were smoothly stretched across a stomach of noble proportions. He had levelled his quizzing-glass at Venetia, but after one cursory glance at him she had transferred her gaze to his companion.

  If the gentleman was magnificent, the lady was the more striking of the two. A hint of brass in the colour of her exquisitely dressed curls might betray the hand of an expert coiffeur, the delicate blush on her cheeks might have issued from an expensive jar of rouge, but her figure, tantalizingly revealed by a very low cut gown of silk so soft and diaphanous that it clung like a cobweb to her form, owed no more to art than did her large, brilliant eyes, her classically straight nose, or the lovely line of her jaw. Diamonds hung from the lobes of her ears, flashed on her white bosom, and on her arms; an ermine cloak had been flung carelessly over the back of her chair, and she was leaning a little forward, her gaze, like her companion’s, directed towards Venetia. There was a slightly amused smile on her tinted lips; she was slowly waving to and fro a fan spangled with diamond chips, but as Venetia stared at her she lifted the other hand in a tiny gesture of salute.

  Mrs. Hendred, somnolent after her sumptuous repast, had dozed peacefully through
the first act of the play, and was now listening sleepily to Edward’s measured discourse, and wishing that the curtain would rise on the second act, and so allow her to drop off again. Edward’s voice was monotonous enough to make it hard for her to remain awake, but she was saved from sliding back into sleep by Venetia’s saying suddenly: “Aunt, who is that lady in the box over there?”

  There was a sharpened note in her voice which startled Mrs. Hendred enough to rouse her, and drive away the fog of drowsiness. She straightened herself, giving her plump shoulders a little twitch, and said: “Which lady, my love?” in a slightly thickened voice, but with an assumption of bright interest.

  “Almost directly opposite, ma’am! I can’t point to her, because she is watching me. She has been doing so these past ten minutes, and I— Aunt Hendred, who is she?”

  “My dear, I’m sure I don’t know, for I saw no one in any of the boxes with whom I am acquainted. Which box do you say—” She stopped with a gasp, and ejaculated in a stunned tone: “Good God!”

  Venetia’s hands were tightly clasped over her folded fan; she said: “You know her, don’t you, ma’am?”

  “No, no!” declared Mrs. Hendred. “Good gracious, no! As though I should know any female who wore such a dress! The most indecent— Dear child, don’t seem to notice them! Such impertinence, staring at you like— Hush, my love, the curtain is going up and we must not talk any more! Dear me, how I long to discover what will happen in this act! An excellent first act, was it not? I don’t know when I have enjoyed a play more! Ah, here is the comical man, and his valet! We mustn’t talk, or we shall miss the diverting things they say!”