‘They don’t live here now, ma’am?’
‘No, no, not for years, though I fancy Sir Lambert comes every now and then, for he has a very large property in Staffordshire. It’s my belief Aurelia thought that because she entertained the Prince Regent, andthatset, thetonwould receive her again, but of course it was no such thing, and so Sir Lambert sold the London house – oh, six or seven years ago! – and I believe they went to Lisbon, or some such place. Lately – since the Peace, I mean – they have been living in Paris. Why they must needs come to London at this moment – and your uncle away from home, so that what’s to be done I cannot think!’
‘My dear ma’am, nothing!’ said Venetia. ‘Even my uncle can’t be expected to drive them out of the country!’ She got up from her chair, and began to walk about the room. ‘My head is in a perfect whirl!’ she said, pressing her hands to her temples. ‘How is itpossiblethat I should never have heard so much as a whisper of this? Surely they must have known –? Everyone at home – Miss Poddemore, Nurse – the villagers!’
‘Your papa forbade anyone to speak of it, my dear. Besides, it is not to be supposed that they knew the whole at Undershaw, for it was very much hushed up – your uncle saw to that! – and in any event I am persuaded Miss Poddemore – such an excellent woman! – would never have opened her lips on the subject to a soul!’
‘No. Or Nurse, or – But the maids – No, they all held Papa in such awe: they wouldn’t have dared, I suppose. But later, when I grew up –’
‘You forget that until Sir Francis’s death you were acquainted only with the Dennys, and with my mother and myself,’ said Edward. ‘By then, moreover, several years had passed. I do not say that the scandal wasforgotten, but it was too old to be muchthought about in Yorkshire any longer. It was not at all likely that you would ever hear it mentioned.’
‘I never did. Good God, why could not Papa have told me? Of all the infamous – Does Conway know?’
‘Yes, but Conway is a man, dear child! And of course he had to know, when he was sent to Eton, but Papa forbade himeverto speak of it!’
‘Gothic! perfectly Gothic!’ said Venetia. Her eyes went to Edward. ‘Sothatis why Mrs Yardley doesn’t like me!’ she exclaimed.
He lifted his hand. ‘I assure you, my dear Venetia, you are mistaken! My mother has frequently told me that she likes you very well. That she did not, for some time, wish for the connection is – I know you must agree –understandable, for her principles are high, and anything in the nature of scandal is repugnant to her – as, indeed, it must be to anyone of propriety.’
‘Such as yourself?’ she asked.
He replied weightily: ‘I do not deny that it is not what I like. Indeed, I struggled to overcome what I felt was an attachment I ought never to have allowed myself to form. It would not do, however. I became persuaded that there was nothing in your character, or your disposition, that made you unworthy to succeed my dear mother as mistress of Netherfold. You have sometimes a trifle too much volatility, as I have had occasion now and then to hint to you, but of yourvirtueI have no doubt.’
‘Edward, this encomium un –unwomansme!’ said Venetia faintly, sinking into a chair, and covering her eyes with one hand.
‘You are upset,’ he told her kindly. ‘It is not to be wondered at. It has been painful for you to learn what cannot but cause you to feel great affliction, but you must not allow your spirits to become too much oppressed.’
‘I will put forth my best endeavours not to fall into flat despair,’ promised Venetia, in a shaking voice. ‘Perhaps youhad better go now, Edward! I don’t think I can talk about it any more without becoming hysterical!’
‘Yes, it is very natural that you should wish to be alone, to reflect upon all you have heard. I shall leave you, and in good hands,’ he added, bowing slightly to Mrs Hendred. ‘One thing, which occurs to me, I will say before I go. It may be that – er – Lady Steeple will seek an interview with you. You will not, of course, grant such a request, but if she should send a message to you, do not reply to it until you have seen me again! It will be an awkward business, but I shall think it over carefully, and don’t doubt that by tomorrow I shall be able to advise you in what terms your reply should be couched. Now, do not think you must ring for your butler to show me out, ma’am, I beg! I know my way!’
He then shook hands with his hostess, patted Venetia reassuringly on the shoulder, and took himself off. Slightly affronted, Mrs Hendred said: ‘Well, if anybody should advise you how to reply to Aurelia I should have thought – however, I am sure he meant it kindly! Poor child, you are quite overset! I wish to heaven –’
‘I am quite institches!’ retorted Venetia, letting her hand drop, and showing her astonished aunt a countenance alive with laughter. ‘Oh, my dear ma’am,don’t lookso shocked, I do beg of you! Can’t you see how absurd – No, I see you can’t! But if he had stayed another instant I must have been in whoops!Painfulnews? I never was more overjoyed in my life!’
‘Venetia!’ gasped Mrs Hendred. ‘My dearest niece, youarehysterical!’
‘I promise you I am not, dear ma’am – though when I think of all the nonsense that has been talked aboutmyreputation, andmyprospects I wonder I am not lying rigid on the floor and drumming my heels! Damerel must have known the truth! Hemusthave known it! In fact, I daresay he is very well acquaintedwith my mama, for she looked to me precisely the sort of female hewouldbe acquainted with! Yes, and now I come to think of it he said something to me once that proves he knows her! Only he was in one of his funning moods, and I thought nothing of it. But – but why, if he knew about my mother, did he think it would ruin me to marry him? It is quiteidiotish!’
Mrs Hendred, reeling under this fresh shock, said: ‘Venetia, I doimploreyou –! It is precisely what makes it of the very first importance that you shouldnotmarry him! Good gracious, child, only think what would be said!Like mother, like daughter!How many times have I impressed upon you that your circumstances make itimperativethat you should conduct yourself with the greatest propriety! Heaven knows it is difficult enough – though your uncle says that he is confident you will receive very eligible offers, for he holds, and Lord Damerel too, I make no doubt, that when you are seen to be an unexceptionable girl – not at all like your mother, however much you may resemble her, which, I must own, it is a thousand pities you do – no man of sense will hesitate – though the more I think of Mr Foxcott, the more doubtful I feel about him, because –’
‘Don’t waste a thought on him!’ said Venetia. ‘Don’t waste a thought on any of the eligible suitors you’ve found for me, dear ma’am! There is more of my mama in me than you have the least idea of, and the only eligible husband for me is a rake!’
NINETEEN
When she was in London, Mrs Hendred’s breakfast was invariably carried up to her bedchamber on a tray, but it was Venetia’s custom, like that of many other ladies of more energetic habit than Mrs Hendred, to rise betimes, and sally forth, either to do a little hum-drum shopping, or to walk in one of the parks. Breakfast was served on her return in a parlour at the back of the house, and such was the esteem in which she was held in the household that it was Worting’s practice to wait on her himself, instead of deputing this office to the under-butler. Worting, like Miss Bradpole, had recognised at a glance that Mrs Hendred’s niece from Yorkshire was no country miss on her probation, or indigent hanger-on unexpectant of any extraordinary civility. Miss Lanyon was Quality; and it was easy to see that she was accustomed to rule over a genteel establishment. Moreover, she was a very agreeable young lady, on whom it was quite a pleasure to wait, for she was neither familiar nor high in the instep. She could depress a pert London housemaid with no more than a look, but many was the chat Worting had enjoyed with her in the breakfast-parlour. They discussed such interesting topics as Domestic Economy, Town Life as contrasted with Country Life, and the Changes that had taken place since Worting had first embarked on hisdistinguished career. It was he who was Venetia’s chief guide to London, for she did not at all disdain to ask his advice. He told her what places were considered worthy of being visited, how they were to be reached, and what it was proper to bestow on chairmen, or the drivers of hacks.
On the morning following Edward Yardley’s unlucky theatre-party she did not go out before breakfast, nor did she wish for information about any historic monument. She wanted to know which were the most elegant hotels in town, and she could scarcely have applied to anyone more knowledgeable. Worting could tell her something about them all, and he was only too happy to do so, reciting, with a wealth of detail, a formidable list ranging from such hostelries as Osborne’s Hotel, in Adam Street (genteel accommodation for families, and single gentlemen), to such establishments as the Grand, in Covent Garden (superior), and (if one of the First Houses was required) Grillon’s, the Royal, the Clarendon, the Bath, and the Pulteney, all of which (and a great many others besides) catered exclusively for the Nobility and the Gentry. He was himself inclined to favour the Bath, on the south side of Piccadilly, by Arlington Street; a rambling house, conducted on old-fashioned lines, and patronised by persons of taste and refinement, but if Miss had in mind something generally considered to stand at the height of the mode, he would recommend her to enquire for her friends at the Pulteney.
Miss had; and after learning that during the somewhat premature Peace Celebrations held in London in 1814 the Pulteney had housed no less a personage than the Tsar of Russia (not to mention his impressive sister, the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg), she decided to place it at the head of her list of hotels where she was most likely to discover Sir Lambert and Lady Steeple. Charging Worting with a message for his mistress that she had been obliged to go out on an urgent shopping expedition, shepresently set forth, charmingly attired in a blue velvet pelisse trimmed with chinchilla, and a fetching velvet hat with three curled ostrich plumes, and a high poke lined with gathered silk. She carried a large chinchilla muff, and altogether presented so delightful a picture that when she reached the hackney coach stand in Oxford Street the competition for her custom amongst the assembled Jehus was fierce, and extremely noisy.
Arrived at the Pulteney, which stood on the north side of Piccadilly, and overlooked the Green Park, she found that her instinct had not erred: Sir Lambert and Lady Steeple were occupying the very suite allotted, four years earlier, to his Imperial Majesty.
Venetia sent up her card; and in a very short space of time was being ushered into an ornate saloon upon the first floor, where Sir Lambert, gorgeously arrayed in a befrogged dressing-gown, had just (and rather hastily) swallowed the last mouthful of a large and varied breakfast.
Nothing could have been more gratifying than the affability with which he received her. It might even have been considered to be a trifle excessive, for after rapidly running over her the eye of a connoisseur he claimed the right of a father-in-law to greet her with a kiss. Venetia accepted this demurely, repressed a strong inclination to remove herself from the circle of his arm, and smiled upon him with dazzling sweetness.
He was delighted. He gave her waist a little squeeze, saying; ‘Well, well, well, who would have thought such a dull, gray morning would bring such a beautiful surprise? I declare the sun has come out after all! And so you are my daughter! Let me look at you!’ He then held her at arm’s length, scanning her up and down appreciatively, and in a way that gave her the uncomfortable feeling that she had ventured forth far too lightly clad. ‘Upon my word, I never thought to have such a lovely gal for my daughter!’ he told her. ‘Aha, that makes youblush, and devilish pretty you look, flying your colours, my dear! But you have no need to colour up, you know! If your papa-in-law may not pay you a compliment I wish you will tell me who may! And so you have come to see us! I am not astonished. No, I said last night to Aurelia that you looked like a sweet gal, and so you are! When she saw you with Maria Hendred she guessed at once who you was, but “depend upon it,” she said, “Maria will take care not to let her come within tongue-shot of me!”’
