‘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 strongwilled, 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.’
Thirteen
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 realise 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 Vene
tia 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 the 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!’ 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 foistin
g 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 moralising 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.