These orgies had lasted for seven days, but they had provided the neighbouring countryside with food for gossip that lasted for months.
However, nothing further had been heard of Damerel. He had not come north for York Races this year, and, unless he meant to come later for the pheasant-shooting, which (from the neglected state of his preserves) seemed unlikely, the North Riding might consider itself free from his contaminating presence for another year. It came, therefore, as a surprise to Venetia, serenely filling her basket with his blackberries, when she discovered that he was much nearer at hand than anyone had supposed. She had been making her way round the outskirts of the wood, and had paused to disentangle her dress from a particularly clinging trail of bramble when an amused voice said: ‘Oh, how full of briars is this working-day world!’
Startled, she turned her head, and found that she was being observed by a tall man mounted on a handsome gray horse. He was a stranger, but his voice and his habit proclaimed his condition, and it did not take her more than a very few moments to guess that she must be confronting the Wicked Baron. She regarded him with candid interest, unconsciously affording him an excellent view of her enchanting countenance. His brows rose, and he swung himself out of the saddle, and came towards her, with long, easy strides. She was unacquainted with any men of mode, but although he was dressed like any country gentleman a subtle difference hung about his buckskins and his coat of dandy gray russet. No provincial tailor had fashioned them, and no country beau could have worn them with such careless elegance. He was taller than Venetia had at first supposed, rather loose-limbed, and he bore himself with a faint suggestion of swashbuckling arrogance. As he advanced upon her Venetia perceived that he was dark, his countenance lean and rather swarthy, marked with lines of dissipation. A smile was curling his lips, but Venetia thought she had never seen eyes so cynically bored.
‘Well, fair trespasser, you are justly served, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Stand still!’
She remained obediently motionless while he disentangled her skirt from the brambles. As he straightened himself, he said: ‘There you are! But I always exact a forfeit from those who rob me of my blackberries. Let me look at you!’
Before she had recovered from her astonishment at being addressed in such a style he had an arm round her, and with his free hand had pushed back her sunbonnet. In more anger than fright she tried to thrust him away, uttering a furious protest. He paid no heed at all; only his arm tightened round her, something that was not boredom gleamed in his eyes, and he ejaculated: ‘But beauty’s self she is…!’
Venetia then found herself being ruthlessly kissed. Her cheeks much flushed, her eyes blazing, she fought strenuously to break free from a stronger hold than she had ever known, but her efforts only made Damerel laugh, and she owed her deliverance to Flurry. The spaniel, emerging from the undergrowth to find his mistress struggling in the arms of a stranger, was cast into great mental perturbation. Instinct urged him to fly to her rescue, but dimly understood precept forbade him to bite anything that walked on two legs. He tried compromise, barking hysterically. It did not answer, and instinct won the day.
Since Damerel was wearing topboots Flurry’s heroic assault drew no blood, but it did cause him to glance down at the spaniel, relaxing his hold on Venetia just enough to enable her to wrench herself away.
‘Sit!’ commanded Damerel.
Flurry, recognising the voice of a Master, promptly abased himself, ears dipped, and tail deprecatingly wagging. ‘What the devil do you mean by it, eh?’ said Damerel, catching him by the lower jaw, and forcing up his head. Flurry recognised that voice too, and, much relieved, did his best to explain that the regrettable incident had arisen from a misunderstanding. Venetia, who, instead of seizing the opportunity to run away, had been angrily re-tying the strings of her sunbonnet, exclaimed: ‘Oh, have you no discrimination, you idiotic animal?’
Damerel, who was patting the repentant Flurry, looked up, his eyes narrowing.
‘And as for you, sir,’ said Venetia, meeting that searching stare with a flaming look, ‘your quotations don’t make your advances a whit more acceptable to me – and they don’t deceive me into thinking you anything but a pestilent, complete knave!’
He burst out laughing. ‘Bravo! Where did you find that?’
Venetia, who had suddenly remembered the rest of the quotation, replied: ‘If you don’t know, I certainly shan’t tell you. That phrase is apt enough, but the context won’t do.’
‘Oho! My curiosity is now thoroughly roused! I recognise the hand, and see that I must carefully study my Shakespeare.’
‘I should think you had seldom employed your time more worthily!’
‘Who are you?’ he demanded abruptly. ‘I took you for a village maiden – probably one of my tenants.’
‘Did you indeed? Well, if that is the way you mean to conduct yourself amongst the village maidens you won’t win much liking here!’
‘No, no, the danger is that I might win too much!’ he retorted. ‘Who are you? Or should I first present myself to you? I’m Damerel, you know.’
‘Yes, so I supposed, at the outset of our delightful acquaintance. Later, of course, I was sure of it.’
‘Oh, oh – ! My reputation, Iago, my reputation!’ he exclaimed, laughing again. ‘Fair Fatality, you are the most unusual female I have encountered in all my thirty-eight years!’
‘You can’t think how deeply flattered I am!’ she assured him. ‘I daresay my head would be quite turned if I didn’t suspect that amongst so many a dozen or so may have slipped from your memory.’
‘More like a hundred! Am I never to learn your name? I shall, you know, whether you tell me or no!’
‘Without the least difficulty! I am very much better known in this country than you, for I’m a Lanyon of Undershaw!’
‘Impressive! Undershaw? Oh, yes! your land marches with mine, doesn’t it? Are you in the habit of walking abroad quite unattended, Miss Lanyon?’
‘Yes – except, of course, when I have had warning that you are at the Priory!’
‘Spiteful little cat!’ he said appreciatively. ‘How the devil was I to recognise Miss Lanyon of Undershaw in a crumpled gown and a sunbonnet, and without even the chaperonage of her maid?’
‘Oh, am I to understand, then, that if you had known my quality you wouldn’t have molested me? How chivalrous!’
‘No, no, I’m not chivalrous!’ he said, mocking her. ‘The presence of your maid would have checkmated me, not your quality. I’m not complaining, but I wonder at such a little beauty’s venturing to roam about the country alone. Or don’t you know how beautiful you are?’
‘Yes,’ replied Venetia, taking the wind out of his sails. ‘Item, two lips, indifferent red –’
‘Oh, no, you’re quite out, and have gone to the wrong poet besides! They look like rosebuds filled with snow!’
‘Is that from Cherry-ripe?’ she demanded. He nodded, much entertained by her suddenly intent look. Her eyes sparkled with triumph; she uttered a tiny gurgle of laughter; and retorted: ‘Then I know what comes next! Yet them no peer nor prince can buy, Till Cherry-ripe themselves do cry! So let that be a lesson to you to take care what poets you choose!’
‘But you’re enchanting!’ he exclaimed.
She put out her hands quickly, to hold him off. ‘No!’
He caught her wrists, and swept them behind her, clipping them in the small of her back, and so holding her chest to chest. Her heart beat fast; she felt breathless, but not afraid.
‘Yes!’ he said, still mocking. ‘You should have run away, my golden girl, while you had the chance to do it!’
‘I know I should, and I can’t think why I did not,’ she replied, incurably candid.
‘I could hazard a guess.’
She shook her head. ‘No. Not if you mean it was because I wanted you to kiss me again, for I don
’t. I can’t prevent you, for my strength is so much less than yours. You needn’t even fear to be called to account for it. My brother is a schoolboy, and – very lame. Perhaps you already know that?’
‘No, and I’m much obliged to you for telling me! I need have no scruples, I see.’
She looked up at him searchingly, trying to read his mind, for although he jeered she thought his voice had a bitter edge. Then, as she stared into his eyes she saw them smiling yet fierce, and a line of Byron’s flashed into her head. There was a laughing devil in his sneer. ‘Oh, do let me go!’ she begged. ‘I’ve suddenly had the most diverting thought! Oh, dear! Poor Oswald!’
He was quite taken aback, as much by the genuine amusement in her face, as by what she had said, and he did let her go. ‘You’ve suddenly had the most diverting thought?’ he repeated blankly.
‘Thank you!’ said Venetia, giving her crushed dress a little shake. ‘Yes, indeed I have, though I daresay you might not think it a very good joke, but that’s because you don’t know Oswald.’
‘Well, who the devil is he? Your brother?’
‘Good God, no! He is Sir John Denny’s son, and the top of his desire is to be mistaken for the Corsair. He combs his hair into wild curls, knots silken handkerchiefs round his neck, and broods over the dark passions in his soul.’
‘Does he, indeed? And what has this puppy to say to anything?’
She picked up her basket. ‘Only that if ever he meets you he will be quite green with jealousy, for you are precisely what he thinks he would like to be – even though you don’t study the picturesque in your attire.’
He looked thunderstruck for a moment, and ejaculated: ‘A Byronic hero – ! Oh, my God! Why, you abominable –’ He broke off, as a cock pheasant exploded out of the wood, and said irritably: ‘Must that worthless dog of yours make my birds as wild as be-damned?’
‘Yes, because my brother doesn’t like him to do so at Undershaw, which is why I brought him with me today. Putting up game is what he particularly enjoys doing, and as he’s quite useless as a gun-dog, poor fellow, he gets very few opportunities to do it. Do you object? I can’t see why you should, when you never come here to shoot!’
‘I never have done so!’ he retorted. ‘This year is quite another matter, however! I own I had not meant to stay in Yorkshire above a few days, but that was before I made your acquaintance. I am going to remain at the Priory for the present!’
‘How splendid!’ said Venetia affably. ‘In general it is a trifle dull here, but that will be quite at an end if you are to remain amongst us!’ She caught sight of Flurry, called him to heel, and dropped a slight curtsy. ‘Goodbye!’
‘Oh, not goodbye!’ he protested. ‘I mean to know you better, Miss Lanyon of Undershaw!’
‘To be sure, it does seem a pity you should not, after such a promising start, but life, you know, is full of disappointments, and that, I must warn you, is likely to prove one of them.’
He fell into step beside her, as she made her way towards the turnstile. ‘Afraid?’ he asked provocatively.
‘Well, what a stupid question!’ she said. ‘I should have supposed you must have known yourself to be the ogre who would infallibly pounce on every naughty child in the district!’
‘As bad as that?’ he said, rather startled. ‘Had I better try to retrieve my shocking reputation, do you think?’
They had reached the turnstile, and she passed through it. ‘Oh no, we should have nothing to talk about any more!’
‘Vixen!’ he remarked. ‘Well – ! Tell your lame brother how shamefully I used you, and fear nothing! I won’t pounce on him.’
Three
Venetia went home with her thoughts in quite unaccustomed disorder. Feeling that after such an agitating experience a period of calm reflection was necessary she walked slowly, thinking over all the circumstances of her first encounter with a rake; but after dwelling on the impropriety of Damerel’s conduct, and telling herself how fortunate she had been to have escaped a worse fate, it rather horrifyingly occurred to her that she had shown herself to be lacking in sensibility. A delicately nurtured female (unless all the books lied) would have swooned from the shock of being kissed by a strange man, or at the very least would have been cast into the greatest affliction, her peace cut up, her spirits wholly overpowered. What she would not have done was to have stayed to bandy words with her wolfish assailant. Nor would she have been conscious of a feeling of exhilaration. Venetia was very conscious of it. She had not enjoyed being so ruthlessly handled, but for one crazy instant she had known an impulse to respond, and through the haze of her own wrath she had caught a glimpse of what life might be. Not, of course, that she wished to be mauled by strangers. But if Edward had ever kissed her thus! The thought drew a smile from her, for the vision of Edward swept out of his rigid propriety was improbable to the point of absurdity. Edward was sternly master of his passions; she wondered, for the first time, if these were very strong, or whether he was, in fact, rather cold-blooded.
The question, being of no particular moment, remained unanswered; Damerel, entering rudely on to the scene, instantly dominated it, and whether he was the villain or merely a minor character it was useless to deny that he had infused life into a dull play.
Venetia found it hard to make up her mind what to tell Aubrey. If she disclosed her meeting with Damerel he might ask her questions she would find it difficult to answer; on the other hand, if she said nothing, and Damerel did succeed in improving his acquaintance with her, he would certainly make Aubrey’s acquaintance too; and although he could scarcely be so shameless as to refer to the nature of his previous encounter with her he might well mention that he had met her before, which would surely make Aubrey think it odd of her not to have told him of so unprecedented an event. Then she thought that the likeliest chance was that Damerel had no real intention of remaining at the Priory, and decided to keep her own counsel.
As matters turned out she was heartily glad of it. It was Aubrey who first spoke of Damerel’s return, but as he had very little interest in his neighbours and none at all in a man he had never laid eyes on, he did so quite casually, saying as he sat down to dinner that day: ‘Oh, by the by! I heard in the village that Damerel’s back again – but without Paphians! Alone, in fact.’
‘What, no scandal-broth brewing? That won’t please the quizzy ones! I wonder what brings him?’
‘Business, I should think,’ replied Aubrey indifferently. ‘High time he did look into his affairs here.’
She agreed, but did not pursue the topic. It was to be raised again, though not by Aubrey. Such an exciting piece of news naturally spread rapidly over the district, and before nightfall both Nurse and Mrs Gurnard, forced into temporary alliance, had impressed upon Venetia the need for her to behave with the greatest circumspection. On no account must she step beyond the garden without an escort. There was no telling what might happen to her if she didn’t do as she was bid, said Nurse darkly.
Venetia soothed the alarms of these two well-wishers; but when Edward Yardley came to Undershaw on the following day she was never nearer losing her temper with him.
‘I daresay he won’t remain at the Priory above a day or two, but while he is here it will be best for you to discontinue your solitary walks,’ Edward said, with a calm assumption of authority which she found so irritating that she was obliged to choke down a hasty retort. ‘You know,’ he added, with a wry smile, ‘that I have never liked that custom of yours.’
Oswald Denny visited her too, but the form his solicitude took was a dramatic assurance that if Damerel should dare to molest her he would know how to answer ‘the fellow’. The significant laying of his hand upon an imaginary sword-hilt was too much for Venetia’s gravity: she went into a peal of laughter, which provoked him to exclaim: ‘You laugh, but I’ve lived where they hold life cheap! I promise you I should have no compunction in calling this fel
low out, were he to offer you the smallest affront!’
After this Venetia was not at all surprised when, two days later, the Dennys’ barouche-landau disgorged Lady Denny at Undershaw. But it soon transpired that her ladyship’s object was not so much to warn her young friend to beware of encountering a notorious rake as to enjoy a comfortable gossip about him. She had actually spoken to him! Well, more than that: Sir John, meeting him by chance, had seized the opportunity to try if he could not win his support over some matter of parish business; and finding him perfectly amiable, had brought him back to Ebbersley, further to discuss the affair, and had ended by inviting him to eat a nuncheon there.
‘You may imagine my amazement when in they both walked! I must own, my love, that I was not quite pleased, for Clara and Emily were both sitting with me, and although Clara is not, I fancy, very likely to have her head turned, Emily is at just that age when girls fall in love with the most ineligible men. However, there’s no fear of that, as it turns out: the girls both declared there was never anything more disappointing, for he is quite old, and not at all handsome!’
‘Old?’ Venetia exclaimed involuntarily.
‘Well, so he seemed to the girls,’ Lady Denny explained. ‘He can’t be above forty, I suppose, if he’s as much as that. I am not perfectly sure – when he was a child he was scarcely ever at the Priory, you know, because Lady Damerel had the greatest dislike of Yorkshire, and never would come here, except when they had parties for the races. You wouldn’t remember, my dear, but she was a very proud, disagreeable woman – and I will say this for her son: he seems not to be at all top-lofty – not, of course, that he has the least occasion to hold up his nose! Except that the Damerels are a very old family, and this man’s father, though always perfectly civil, was said to have a great deal of self-consequence. There was nothing of that to be seen – indeed, I thought his lordship had too little particularity! I don’t mean to say that his manners gave me a disgust of him, but he has an odd, abrupt way that is a trifle too careless to please me! As for the girls, they rated him very cheap – though I daresay they would not if he had behaved more prettily to them. He hardly spoke above a dozen words to them – the merest commonplace, too!’