‘No, no, indeed I never did! But – well, such things become known, I’m sure I don’t know how, but you may believe that theydo!’
But as Venetia found it impossible to believe that what happened at Undershaw could be known in London, she was quite unimpressed by her aunt’s dark warnings. Fortunately it was not difficult to divert Mrs Hendred’s mind, so instead of arguing with her she seized the first opportunity that offered of introducing a fresh topic of conversation, and said that she had overheard someone saying, in Hookham’s Library, that very morning, that he had had it on the best of authority that the Queen was not expected by her physicians to live out the week. As it was Mrs Hendred’s recurrent nightmare that her Majesty (whom everyone knew to be as tough as whitleather) would survive the winter, and ruin all Theresa’s chances by dying in the middle of the next season, this gambit was very successful; and in hoping, doubting, and wondering for how long a period the Court (and of course theton) would go into mourning, Mrs Hendred forgot, for the time being, that she had failed to extract from her wilful niece any promise of conformity.
The Queen died at Kew, in the small hours of the morning of the 17th November. Mr Hendred brought the news to his wife, and it did much to raise her spirits, sunk very low by the outrageous behaviour of her dressmaker, who had delivered in Cavendish Square, instead of a promised promenade dress, a prevaricating note full of excuses for having been unable to fulfil her obligation.
The only fault Mrs Hendred had to find in the news was that the Queen should have chosen to die on the 17th instead of the 18th November, for the 17th was the day fixed for the ball she was giving in Venetia’s honour. Few things could have been more provoking, for all the preparations had been made, and after having been put to so much exertion, arranging with the French cook about the supper, speaking to Worting about the champagne, deciding what she should wear, and showing Venetia how to direct the cards of invitation, it was a great dealtoo bad that it should all have been for nothing. However, after wondering what was to be done with the creams and the aspics and the stuffed birds, she hit upon the happy notion of inviting a few of the guests bidden to the ball to come to dinner instead, quite informally, of course, and to spend a quiet, conversible evening, with perhaps a few rubbers of whist, butnomusic.
‘No more than half a-dozen persons; for any more would give it the appearance of aparty,’ she told Venetia. ‘That would never do! My dear, that reminds me – black gloves! I daresay you have none, and they must be procured instantly! Black ribbons, too, and I think you should wear a high frock, not one cut low at the bosom – and I shall invite none of theyoungpeople. Just a few of my chiefest friends! What do you say to Sir Matthew Hallow? I daresay he would be charmed to dine here, and you like him, don’t you, my love?’
‘Yes, very much,’ replied Venetia absently.
‘He is a most excellent person: I knew you would be pleased with him, and he with you! He admires you excessively: I sawthatat a glance!’
‘Well, as long as he doesn’t take to paying me fulsome compliments – which I don’t think he has the least intention of doing – he may admire me as much as he chooses,’ said Venetia depressingly.
Mrs Hendred sighed, but said no more. Sir Matthew Hallow, though not quite the ideal man for Venetia, had much to recommend him, and she had been very glad to see how friendly he and Venetia had become. He was rather too old for her, perhaps, and it was a pity that he should be a widower, but he seemed to have taken her fancy, and although he was popularly supposed to have buried his heart in his wife’s grave there was no doubt that he was struck by Venetia’s good looks, and found her company agreeable.
However, he was not the only possible husband Mrs Hendred had found for her niece, so she was not unduly cast-down byVenetia’s lack of enthusiasm. She decided that Mr Armyn also should be invited to dine: he knew all about Roman remains, or something of the sort, and might just suit a girl who spent three hours at the British Museum, and selected from the shelves of the lending library a book about the Middle Ages.
Venetia seemed to like Mr Armyn: she said that he had a well-informed mind. She liked two other eligible bachelors, agreeing that one had very good address, and that the other was extremely gentlemanlike. Mrs Hendred felt a strong inclination to burst into tears, and would probably have done so had she known that Venetia had abandoned sightseeing, and was devoting each afternoon to house-hunting.
She found it an exhausting and a dispiriting task, but she had been living for a full month with her aunt, and not only did she feel that a month constituted a very reasonable visit, but she was increasingly anxious to form her own establishment. Perhaps, if she could be busy all the time, as she meant to be, she might not feel so unhappy; perhaps, in household cares, she could forget her love, or grow at least accustomed to desolation, as Aubrey had grown accustomed to his limp.
She returned one afternoon from one of these expeditions to be informed by the footman who admitted her into the house that a gentleman had called to visit her, and was sitting with Mrs Hendred in the drawing-room. She stood rooted, feeling her heart miss a beat.
‘A Mr Yardley, miss,’ said the footman.
SEVENTEEN
Edward had come to London with a double purpose. He wished to consult a physician recommended to him by their good Huntspill – not that he believed there was any cause foralarm, but he could not deny that his cough still hung about him, which set his mother sadly on the fidgets; and so, upon Huntspill’s saying, in his testy way, that if she fancied there might be more amiss than he could discover she had best call in a physician from York, he had taken the resolve to consult a London physician instead. ‘And I fancy, my dear Venetia, I have no need to tell youwhyI preferred to do so, or what was myotherpurpose in visiting the metropolis!’ he said archly.
‘I am sorry you would not be quite recovered yet,’ she replied. ‘Is Mrs Yardley also in town?’
No, he had come without his mama. She had had a great mind to accompany him, but he had thought that the journey would be too fatiguing for her, and so she had remained at Netherfold. He was putting up at Reddish’s, which had been recommended to him as a genteel hotel, though he had been surprised to find it so much larger than had been described to him. He feared the bill would make him open his eyes.
‘However, I daresay it will not ruin me, and when one goes on holiday, you know, it is permissible to be a little extravagant.’
When Mrs Hendred left the room, which she very soon found an excuse to do, he told Venetia how happy he was to discover her in such comfortable circumstances. He had had no doubt of her aunt’s being a most estimable female, but he had not been able to feel easy in his mind until he should have seen for himself how she went on. He now perceived that she was living in the first style of elegance, no doubt in a regular whirl of fashionable dissipation! ‘Your aunt, I daresay, has a large circle of acquaintances. She entertains a great deal, I believe. You will have been meeting quite a crowd of new faces!’
It was not difficult to see what was his real purpose in coming to London. Damerel he had not recognised to be a danger; but the unknown beaux and tulips of fashion, on whom he quizzed her, laughingly, yet watching her pretty sharply, might well dazzle the eyes of a country innocent.
She interrupted his attempts to discover if this had indeed been the case, by asking him if he had seen Aubrey. His countenance became grave at once; he replied: ‘Yes, I have seen him. I knew you would wish for news of him, and so I rode over to the Priory – a little against my inclination, I must own, for Damerel is not a man with whom I should wish to stand on terms of more than common civility. That was a very awkward business, Venetia: I was excessively vexed when I heard of it! I wonder your uncle should not have invited Aubrey to come with you to town.’
‘He did invite him, but Aubrey didn’t wish to come. It wouldn’t have answered, you know. Is he well? Pray tell me how – how you found everything at the Priory! Aubrey is the wretchedest correspondent!’
‘Oh, he is very well! I need not tell you I found him with his nose in a book, and the desk all littered over with papers! I ventured to joke him about hisbarricades, as I called them. I assure you, if he had pulled one book from the shelves he hadpulled a dozen. I told him that I wondered that anyone who cared as much as he does for books should leave them lying all over – on the floor, even! Does heneverput away what he has done with?’
‘No, never. Did you tell him you were coming to London?’
‘Certainly – since that was my object in visiting him! I offered to be the bearer of any message, or letter, he might like to send you, but he was in one of his crotchety moods: you know his way whenever one tries just to give him a hint! He didn’t like my reminding him that they were not his own books on the floor, and so he wouldn’t entrust any message to me!’
‘Aubrey doesn’t recognise your authority, Edward. In fact,youare the only person to do so, and I wish you will remember that you have none.’
‘As to that – but it was no matter ofauthority! One would suppose that a boy of his age need not be above accepting a little friendly criticism!’
‘Well, not if one knows Aubrey!’ she retorted. ‘The truth is that you and he don’t deal well together.’
‘I shall dare to contradict you, my dear Venetia!’ he said, smiling. ‘The truth is that Master Aubrey is jealous, and hasn’t yet learned to overcome it. He’ll do so in time, particularly if one pays no heed to his miffs.’
