The sense of struggling through the thickets of a nightmare again swept over her. There was a way out, so her heart’s voice cried to her, and could she find it she would find also Damerel, her dear friend. But time was slipping away; in another minute it would be too late; and urgency acted not as a spur but as a creeping paralysis which clogged the mind, and weighted the tongue, and imposed on desperation a blanket of numb stupidity.
Suddenly Damerel spoke again, in his own voice, as it seemed to her, and abruptly: ‘Does Aubrey go with you?’
She looked blindly at him, and said, as though trying to recall to mind a name long-forgotten: ‘Aubrey …’
‘To London!’
‘To London,’ she repeated vaguely. She passed her handacross her eyes. ‘Yes, of course – how foolish! I had forgotten. I don’t know. He went out. He went out shooting before my uncle came.’
‘I see. Does your uncle invite him?’
‘Yes. But he won’t go – Ithinkhe won’t go.’
‘Do you wish for him?’
She frowned, trying to concentrate her mind. The thought of Aubrey steadied her. She pictured him in such a household as she guessed her uncle’s to be, flayed by her aunt’s well-meaning solicitude, bored by her attempts to entertain him, contemptuous of all that she believed to be of the first importance; and presently said in a decided tone: ‘No. Not in Cavendish Square. It wouldn’t do for him. Later, when I shall have made arrangements – I told you, didn’t I? I must hire a house – someone to lend me countenance – make a home for myself and Aubrey, for it is sostupidto say, as Edward does, that Aubrey ought to like what he detests, because other boys do. Aubrey is himself, and no one can alter him, so what is the use of sayinghe ought, when he won’t?’
‘No use at all. Let him come to me! Tell him he may bring his dogs, and his horses – whatever he chooses! I’ll engage myself to see he comes to no harm, and hand him over to that grinder of his in good trim. If he were here you wouldn’t fret yourself to flinders over him, would you?’
‘No.’ Her smile went pitifully awry. ‘Oh, no, how could I? But –’
‘That’s all!’ he interrupted harshly. ‘You won’t be beholden to me, you know! I shall be glad of his company.’
‘But – you are remaining here?’
‘Yes, I’m remaining here. Come! Nidd should have saddled up for you by now!’
She remembered that he had sent for his agent on business which he had said was important; and wondered if he haddiscovered his affairs to be in a worse state than he had guessed. She said diffidently: ‘I think you never meant to do so, and that makes me afraid that perhaps the business you have been engaged in hasn’t prospered?’
The sneer that mocked himself returned to his face; he gave a short laugh, and replied: ‘Don’t trouble your head over that, for it is not of the smallest consequence!’
He was holding open the door, a suggestion of impatience in his attitude. The second line of the sonnet he had quoted came into her mind:Nay, I have done: you get no more of me. He had not spoken those words; there was no need: a golden autumn had ended in storm and drizzling rain, an iridescent bubble had burst, and nothing was left to her but conduct, to help her to behave mannerly. She picked up her gloves and her whip, and walked out of the saloon, and across the flagged hall to the open entrance-door. Imber was standing by it, and through it she could see Nidd, holding her mare’s bridle. She was going to say goodbye to Damerel, her friend and her love, watched by these two, and it did not seem to her as though she would be able to speak at all, because her throat was aching quite dreadfully. She stepped out into the open, and turned to him, drawing a painful breath.
He was not looking at her, but at a black cloud looming to the west. ‘The devil!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’ll never reach Undershaw before that comes down on you! What chance of its clearing, Nidd?’
Nidd shook his head. ‘Setting in wet, m’lord. Spitting already.’
Damerel looked down at Venetia, not sneering now, but concerned, ruefully smiling. He said, lowering his voice to reach only her ears: ‘You must go immediately, my dear. I can’t send you home in my carriage: it wouldn’t do! If that woman knew –!’
‘It is of no consequence.’ She put out her hand; she wasvery pale, but the flicker of her sweet smile warmed her eyes. ‘Goodbye – my dear friend!’
He did not answer, but only kissed her hand, and, holding it still, led her immediately to her mare. He tossed her up into the saddle, as he had done so many times when she had come to visit Aubrey, but today there was no lingering to make a plan for the morrow; he only said: ‘Take the short way, and don’t dawdle! I only hope you may not be drenched! Off with you, my child!’
He stepped back as he spoke, and the mare, needing no urging to go home to her own stable, started forward. Damerel lifted a hand in farewell, but Venetia was not looking at him, and he let it fall, and turned sharply on his heel. His eyes fell on Imber; he said in a curt, hard voice: ‘Miss Lanyon is going to London. It’s probable Mr Aubrey will come here tomorrow, to stay for some few weeks. Tell Mrs Imber to make his room ready!’
He strode away to the library, and the door shut with a snap behind him. Imber looked to see what Nidd made of this, not that he was likely to say, because he was as close as Marston, and dull as a beetle. Nidd was walking off to the stables, so there was nobody to gossip with but Mrs Imber, and she was in a bad skin, because her dough hadn’t risen, and only said: ‘Don’t come fidgeting me!’ and: ‘Get out of my way, do!’ Imber wished himself at Undershaw, to see what they made of it there, when Miss Venetia came in looking like she’d seen a ghost. Proper set-about they’d be, and no wonder!
But only three people at Undershaw saw Venetia upon her return, and neither the undergroom nor the young housemaid who waited on her noticed more than her dripping habit, and the ruin of her hat, with its curled feather hanging sodden and straight beside her rain-washed face. She went up the backstairs to her room, and opened the door to find the maid there, with Nurse, and the room a welter of silver paper, and trunks, with gowns and cloaks laid out on the bed ready to be packed, thelinen in which her furs had been stored all summer lying in a heap on the floor, and the sour apples which had kept the moth at bay scenting the air.
Nurse broke instantly into angry scolding, while Venetia stood on the threshold, her eyes, with that blind look in them, wandering round the disordered room. Then, quite suddenly, Nurse rounded on Jenny, driving her out of the room with orders to fetch up a can of hot water, instead of standing there like a gowk, when anyone could see Miss Venetia was soaked to the skin, and likely to catch her death. She drew Venetia to the fire, still scolding, but differently, just as years ago she had fondly scolded a little girl, appalled by some catastrophe, until she stopped crying. The little girl had known that nothing dreadful could happen to her when Nurse was there; Venetia knew now that Nurse was powerless to help her, but still was a little comforted. Nurse stripped off her wet habit, and huddled her into a dressing-gown, and made her sit by the fire, while she herself bustled about, first trotting off to mix a cordial, which she made Venetia drink, then rubbing her chilled feet, tidying the room, laying out an evening-gown, and all the time talking, talking, but never waiting for answers, and only looking at Venetia out of the corners of her sharp old eyes. Let Miss Venetia sit quiet for a while: plenty of time before she need dress again! And no sitting up late, mind, with so much as there was to do, and Mr Hendred wishful to make an early start! And no need to worry about Undershaw, either, not that she would do that for long, with all the exciting things she would be doing in London, and her aunt so kind, and new faces to see, and goodness only knew how many treats in store! It would seem strange, at first, and it stood to reason she would feel homesick, missing all the people she knew, but let her trust Nurse, and not fall into the dismals, because she would soon be better, never fear!
Venetia, understanding, tried to smile at her, and clasped her hand for a grateful moment.
‘There, my poppet! There, my dove!’ Nurse crooned, stroking her tumbled locks. ‘Don’t cry, my pretty, don’t cry!’
But it was Nurse who cried, not Venetia; and presently, seeing how calm she was, Nurse went away, hoping that she might drop off to sleep for a little while, so tired as she was.
When Nurse came back to help her to dress for dinner (for she would not let Jenny wait on Venetia tonight) she thought that she must have enjoyed a nap, for she had got a little colour back into her cheeks, and seemed more like herself, able to decide what must be packed to go to London, and what Nurse must store away in camphor and keep for her at Undershaw. She had made a list of the people she must see before she left, and the things she must attend to; and Nurse entered briskly into these matters, thinking:Anything to take her mind off, andleast said soonest mended.
