Venetia (24 page)

At the end of nearly an hour, when Mrs. Gurnard came in, at her most stately, to offer to conduct the two ladies to their respective bedchambers, Venetia knew that the comfort of Undershaw was over, and that the immediate future promised nothing but strife and vexation. In addition to her hostility Mrs. Scorrier possessed a managing disposition, and an uncontrollable desire to show everyone, from Venetia down to the gardener’s boy, a better way of performing any given ‘ task, whether it was the direction of a household or the preservation of geraniums. Even the cook, whose macaroons Mrs. Scorrier had declared to be as good as Gunter’s, was to be given a recipe which would be found to be superior; and, as though the mental vision conjured up by this promise was not horrid enough, she further promised to furnish Venetia with the name of an excellent surgeon who, she had no doubt at all, would know just what to do to cure Aubrey’s lameness. Venetia acquitted her of malice, but found no difficulty in understanding why it was that so many people had (according to herself) so frequently behaved disgracefully to her.

Once she was assured that the bedchamber prepared for Charlotte had been occupied by her predecessor she was pleased to approve of it; but when Venetia smiled at Charlotte, and said: “You will tell me, won’t you, if you have not everything you need?” she shook a reproving finger, and said in a rallying tone: “No, no, Miss Lanyon, don’t, I beg of you, encourage my lazy little puss to depend on you! I have been telling her that now she is a married lady and the mistress of her own house she must learn to give her own orders, and not rely upon me, or you, to manage for her.”

When Venetia presently left her own room, and went downstairs again, she found Charlotte seated alone in the drawing-room. She was elegantly dressed in an evening-gown of silk with a demi-train, but she looked far more like a scared schoolgirl than a fashionable matron, and she instinctively rose to her feet as soon as she saw Venetia. Glad to have an opportunity of talking to her without the intervention of Mrs. Scorrier, Venetia exerted herself to put her at her ease. She was only partially successful, and soon realized that while Charlotte’s pliant disposition and amiability of temper made her anxious to please, these meek attributes also made it impossible for her to withstand the domination of her strongminded mother. If she had put it into words (a feat of which she was wholly incapable) that Mrs. Scorrier had warned her to beware of her sister-in-law, that fact could not have been more evident; and since she had neither a sense of humour nor the habit of plain speaking, Venetia’s smiling request that she might not be regarded as an ogress merely served to cast her into incoherent embarrassment. Only when she spoke of Conway did she become at all natural, and forget her shyness in hero-worship. He was a demi-god who had miraculously fallen in love with her; the very thought of his magnificence made her cheeks glow, and her soft eyes shine; and in recounting his daring deeds and sage utterances she grew quite animated.

Venetia might be amused by this unrecognizable portrait of her brother but she was also touched, and readily perceived what it was that had attracted Conway to this somewhat insipid girl. She said kindly: “It must have made you very unhappy to have been obliged to leave him. I do most sincerely feel for you!”

Tears sprang to Charlotte’s eyes. “Oh, it was so dreadful! I didn’t wish to go, but he thought it the only thing, because Colonel Skidby was uncivil to Mama, which made it so very awkward for Conway, because of course Mama wouldn’t submit to being
insulted,
and so we couldn’t invite the Colonel to our parties, which made it excessively uncomfortable for Conway! Only fancy! that horrid man spread the most untruthful tales about poor Mama, and a great many people believed him, and took his part, and behaved very unkindly, so that she was positively
obliged
to tell Lord Hill the whole story, which made Conway say that—which made him think that it would be best if we came back to England!” She ended this impulsive recital on an apprehensive note, and added hurriedly: “And, besides that, I was not very well!”

“I don’t wonder at it!” said Venetia, a merry twinkle in her eye. “In your place I rather think I should have taken to my bed! I can conceive of nothing worse than finding oneself in the centre of a quarrel.”

“Oh, it was so dreadful!” said Charlotte involuntarily, and shuddering at the recollection. “It made me quite hysterical, so of course Mama would not leave me—not that there was any question—for I am sure I could never bear to be parted from her, and particularly when I’m feeling poorly!” She began to pleat her handkerchief, and said haltingly: “Mama—Mama sometimes says things—but she doesn’t mean them—and she has had a great deal to bear, because Papa was not wealthy, and his family behaved in such a disagreeable way, taking my Aunt Elizabeth’s part when she was rude to poor Mama, and not making her beg pardon, so that there was nothing for Mama to do but to cut the connection. And then Papa died of fever, which he contracted in the Peninsula, for he was a military man, like Conway, you know, and so Mama had only my sister and me to live for.”

“Have you just the one sister?” enquired Venetia, unable to think of a suitable comment to make on Mrs. Scorrier’s trials.

“Yes, my sister Fanny. She is older than I am, but we were the greatest friends! It was so sad! She was married two years ago, and has a dear little baby, which I have never seen, because my brother-in-law, whom we had thought to be a most amiable man, has such a jealous disposition that he was quite unpleasant to Mama when we went to stay with him and Fanny, and said he would not have her
meddling and making trouble
in his house, only because she thought it her duty to advise my sister to turn off the housekeeper, who was quite shockingly extravagant, and even, Mama suspected,
dishonest
!”

Before Venetia had well recovered from the effects of this artless speech Mrs. Scorrier had entered the room, and the impulse to warn Charlotte that any attempt to rid Undershaw of its housekeeper could only lead to the discomfiture of her mama had to be abandoned.

Mrs. Scorrier came in all affability, and full of brisk plans for the future. She seemed to have extracted from the housemaid sent by Mrs. Gurnard to wait on her every detail of the organization of Undershaw, and she saw much room for improvement. What was very proper for an unmarried female living in retirement with her brother would by no means do for Lady Lanyon. In particular did her consequence require that there should be two uniformed men-servants under the butler; but Miss Lanyon must not be thinking that this need mean any considerable increase in expenditure, for (if she might venture to say so) she believed that the number of females employed in the house was excessive. “Not that I mean to say that you have not managed very creditably, my dear Miss Lanyon,” she assured Venetia kindly. “Indeed, I must own I am most agreeably surprised by all I have seen, and can truthfully say that you have no need to blush for your housekeeping.”

“None at all!” agreed Venetia, amusement quivering in her voice. “Though I might blush to accept a compliment that is due to another! Mrs. Gurnard has been housekeeper at Undershaw since before I was born.” She turned her head to address Charlotte, saying lightly: “I expect she will wish to conduct you through every department of the house tomorrow. Don’t mind it if she should seem a trifle stiff! She will very soon take to you when she sees that you don’t mean to upset all her economies and arrangements. Talk to her about Conway! She dotes on him, you know—even allows him to call her his dear old Gurney, which I should never dare to do. She will very likely present you with her keys. I’ve no need to warn you, I’m persuaded, that you must beg her to keep them!”

“Oh, no! I should not dream of—”

“Well, as to that, my love,” interrupted Mrs. Scorrier, “I believe it is best to begin as you mean to continue. It is very natural that Miss Lanyon should be shy of asserting herself, having known the woman for so long, but for you it is another matter. It is always the same with old retainers! They are quick to take advantage, and become perfect tyrants. If you will be advised by me, my dear—”

“She’d do better to be advised by my sister,” said Aubrey, who had entered the room in time to hear this interchange. “Lord, what a dust Conway would kick up if he came home to find Mrs. Gurnard had left Undershaw in a pelter!”

The thought of Conway’s displeasure made Charlotte turn pale, and even seemed to give Mrs. Scorrier pause. She countented herself with saying: “Well, we shall see,” but although the smile remained firmly pinned to her lips the glance she cast at Aubrey was by no means amiable. Venetia could only pray that she would not offer him any further provocation.

The prayer was not answered, and long before dinner came to an end it must have been apparent to anyone acquainted with Aubrey that he had decided to war. Upon entering the dining-room, and finding that she was expected to sit at the head of the table, Charlotte had hung back, stammering with instinctive good feeling: “Oh, pray—! That is where you are used to sit, Miss Lanyon, is it not? If you please, I would by far rather not take your place!”

“But I would far rather not take yours!” returned Venetia. “I wish, by the way, that you will call me Venetia!”

“Oh, yes! Thank you, I should be very happy! But
pray
won’t you—”

“My dear Charlotte, Miss Lanyon will think you are quite gooseish if you don’t take care!” said Mrs. Scorrier. “She is very right, and you need have no scruples, I assure you.” She flashed a particularly wide smile at Venetia, and added: “It is the fate of sisters, is it not, to be obliged to take second place when their brothers marry?”

“Undoubtedly, ma’am.”

“Doing it rather too brown, m’dear!” said Aubrey, a glint in his eye. “You’ll still be first in consequence at Undershaw if you eat your dinner in the kitchen, and well you know it!”

“What a devoted brother!” remarked Mrs. Scorrier, with a slight titter.

“What a nonsensical one!” retorted Venetia. “Do you like to sit near the fire, ma’am, or will you—”

“Mrs. Scorrier ought to sit at the
bottom
of the table,” said Aubrey positively.

“You mean the
foot
of the table: opposite to the
head,
you understand,” said Mrs. Scorrier instructively.

“Yes, of course,” replied Aubrey, looking surprised. “Did I say bottom? I wonder what made me do that?”

Venetia asked Charlotte if she had enjoyed her visit to Paris. It was the first of the many hasty interventions she felt herself obliged to make during the course of what she afterwards bitterly described as a truly memorable dinner-party, for while Aubrey offered no unprovoked attacks he was swift to avenge any hint of aggression. Since he made it abundantly plain that he had constituted himself his sister’s champion, and won every encounter with the foe, Venetia could only suppose that Mrs. Scorrier was either very stupid, or compelled by her evil genius to court discomfiture. She really seemed to be incapable of resisting the temptation to depress Venetia’s imagined pretensions, so the dining-room rapidly became a battlefield on which (Venetia thought, with an irrepressible gleam of amusement) line inevitably demonstrated its superiority to column. Unable to counter Aubrey’s elusive tactics, Mrs. Scorrier attempted to give him a heavy set-down. Bringing her determined smile to bear on him she told him that no one would ever take him and Conway for brothers, so unlike were they. What unflattering comparisons she meant to draw remained undisclosed, for Aubrey instantly said, with a touch of anxiety: “No, I don’t think anyone
could,
do you, ma’am? He has the brawn of the family, I have the brain, and Venetia has the beauty.”

After this it was scarcely surprising that Mrs. Scorrier rose from the table with her temper sadly exacerbated. When she disposed herself in a chair by the drawing-room fire there was a steely look in her eyes which made her daughter quake, but her evident intention of making herself extremely unpleasant was foiled by Venetia’s saying that since it behoved her to write two urgent letters she hoped Charlotte would forgive her if she left her until tea-time to the comfort of a quiet evening with only her mama for company. She then left the room, and went to join Aubrey in the library, saying, with deep feeling, as she entered that haven: “
Devil
!”

He grinned at her. “What odds will you lay me that I don’t rid the house of her within a se’ennight?”

“None! It would be robbing you, for you won’t do it. And, indeed, love, you might consider Charlotte’s feelings a trifle! She may be a ninnyhammer, but she can’t help that, and her disposition, I am quite convinced, is perfectly amiable and obliging.”

“So
sweetly mawkish and so smoothly dull,
is what you mean to say!”

“Well, at least the sweetness is something to be thankful for! Do you wish to use your desk? I must write to Aunt Hendred, and to Lady Denny, and I haven’t had the fires lit in the saloon, or the morning-room.”

“
You
haven’t had them lit?” he said pointedly.

“If you don’t wish to see me fall into strong hysterics,
be quiet
!”
begged Venetia, seating herself at the big desk. “Oh, Aubrey, what a shocking pen! Do, pray, mend it for me!”

He took it from her, and picked up a small knife from the desk. As he pared the quill he said abruptly: “Are you writing to tell my aunt and the Dennys that Conway is married?”

“Of course, and I do so much hope that with Lady Denny at least I shall be beforehand. My aunt is bound to read it in the Gazette—may already have done so, for that detestable woman tells me she sent in the notice before she left London! You’d think she might have waited a few days longer, after having done so for three months!”