Venetia (27 page)

“Yes, so did I,” remarked Aubrey. “But Nurse says she expects to be confined in May, so that don’t fit. Nothing smoky about that.”

“Well, don’t sound as if you had rather there had been!” said Damerel, a good deal amused. “Am I to be privileged to meet Mama, or would that be unwise?”

“I should rather suppose it might be, if she
knows
about you,” responded Venetia, seriously considering the matter. “Let us go into the library—though it may well be that she doesn’t know, because although she is not
vulgar—
”

“She is excessively vulgar,” interpolated Aubrey.

“Oh, she has a very vulgar mind!” agreed Venetia. “I meant that she is not underbred, in the style of poor Mrs. Huntspill, or that strange female I met when I visited Harrogate with Aunt Hendred, and who talked all the time of duchesses, and as if they had been her dearest friends, which my aunt assured me was not at all the case. Mrs. Scorrier doesn’t boast in that fashion, and though she is not sincere, and quite odiously overbearing, there is nothing in her manners to give one a disgust of her. But I don’t believe she’s a member of the
ton.
”

“If she’s the woman I rather fancy she must be, she’d the daughter of some small country squire,” said Damerel, following her into the library. “From what Aubrey tells me, I should say your sister-in-law must be Ned Scorrier’s daughter—in which event you need not blush for the marriage. The Scorriers are well enough: not tonnish, but of good stock: a Staffordshire family. Ned Scorrier was one of the younger sons, and was at Eton in my time, though senior to me by a couple of years. I know he became a military man, and made a bad match when he was only twenty, but what happened after that I don’t think I ever heard.”

“He died of fever, in the Peninsula,” said Venetia. “I should think he must be the same man, for Mrs. Scorrier did say something about her husband’s family living in Staffordshire. She quarrelled with them.” Her brow wrinkled. “At least, so I understood, from what Charlotte said, but it does seem an idiotish thing to have done, in her circumstances! She’s not very beforehand with the world, you know: doesn’t pretend to be; so one would have supposed that she would have taken care
not
to quarrel with her husband’s family.”

“One of the advantages of having led a sequestered life,” said Damerel, smiling, “is that you’ve not until now encountered the sort of woman who can’t
refrain
from quarrelling with all who cross her path. She is for ever suffering slights, and is so unfortunate as to make friends only with such illnatured persons as soon or late treat her
abominably
!
No quarrel is ever of her seeking; she is the most amiable of created beings, and the most long-suffering. It is her confiding disposition which renders her a prey to the malevolent, who, from no cause whatsoever, invariably impose upon her, or offer her such intolerable insult that she is
obliged
to cut the connection. Have I hit the mark?”

“Pretty well!” said Aubrey, grinning wryly.

“Add jealousy!” Venetia said. “Quite irrational, too! She took
me
in jealous dislike the instant she laid eyes on me, and I can’t discover why she should have done so, for indeed I don’t think I gave her cause!”

“But you give her great cause,” Damerel said, the smile lingering in his eyes. “Had you been a dark beauty the case would have been different, for you might have served as a foil to that insipid blonde of hers. But you are fair, my dear, and you shine that girl down. Believe me, the gold casts the flax into dismal eclipse, which Mrs. Scorrier very well knows!”

“By Jupiter, I believe you’re right!” exclaimed Aubrey, critically surveying his sister. “I suppose she is a remarkably handsome girl! People seem to think her so, at all events.”

“And even
you
allow her to be tolerable! There can be no doubt!”

“Thank you! I am very much obliged to you both!” said Venetia, laughing. “I daresay you know how much I delight in the ridiculous. You will at least do Charlotte the justice to own that she is a very pretty girl!”

“Certainly—in the style of a puppet, without countenance.”

“Well, I see nothing in her above the ordinary,” declared Aubrey. “And unless he was castaway at the time I’m dashed if I know why Conway offered for her!”

“But they will deal charmingly!” said Venetia. “I know exactly why he offered for her! She is pretty, and gentle, she admires him excessively—indeed, I believe she worships him!—she hasn’t two thoughts in her head to bother him, and she will always think he is as wise as he is handsome!”

“In that case he will become wholly insufferable,” said Aubrey, dragging himself out of his chair. “I must go and attend to Bess: she picked up a thorn in one pad.”

He limped out, and as the door closed behind him Damerel said: “I’ve no interest in the fair Charlotte, and less than none in her mama, but I own I have the liveliest curiosity in your brother Conway, my dear delight! What the devil’s the meaning of this freak? What kind of a man is he to have served you such a trick?”

Venetia considered her brother Conway. “Well, he is large, and very handsome,” she offered. “He looks as if he were strong-willed, but in fact he is excessively easy-going, and only now and then
obstinate.
He is kind, too, and I must say I think it a great virtue in him that he doesn’t take a pet when one roasts him. In fact whenever Aubrey says one of his cutting things to him he is quite proud to think that however puny the poor little fellow may be he has a
devilish
clever tongue.”

Damerel put up his brows. “But you are drawing the portrait of an estimable man, my dear!”

“So he is—in many ways,” replied Venetia cordially. “Only he is selfish, and indolent, and for all his amiability it is of no use to suppose that he might put himself out for anyone, because without being so disobliging as to refuse outright he would either forget, or discover some excellent reason why it would be much better for everyone if he didn’t bestir himself. He dislikes to be made uncomfortable, you see. And for the rest—oh, he is a bold rider to hounds, a first-rate fiddler, and a tolerable shot! He likes simple jokes, and laughs as heartily when he tells them for the tenth time as he did at the first.”

“Aubrey’s is not the only deadly tongue in the Lanyon family!” he remarked appreciatively. “Now, if you please, explain to me why this ease-loving fellow saddled himself with a termagant for his mama-in-law!”

“Oh, he wanted Charlotte, so he left the future to take care of itself! When Mrs. Scorrier made it uncomfortable for him at Cambray he got rid of her, I have no doubt at all, without a disagreeable scene, merely by encouraging Charlotte to fancy herself unwell, and then convincing her, and Mrs. Scorrier, and himself as well, that it was his duty to send her home to England. I daresay he would be glad if
I
would rid Undershaw of Mrs. Scorrier, and before he returns, but I doubt if I could, and, in any event, I don’t mean to make the attempt. He must do it himself. He will, too—which is something I fancy she doesn’t yet suspect!” Venetia gave a little chuckle. “Of course he would never quarrel with her at Cambray, where she would have made a great noise, and put him to the blush, but he won’t care a button what noise she makes here! And I shouldn’t wonder at it if he makes Charlotte tell her to go, and goes off hunting all day while she does it!”

Damerel laughed, but he said: “Meanwhile, she is cutting up your peace, confound her!”

“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.