‘What chaise?’
‘The one I hired in York to bring me here. I hadn’t enough of my own money left – in fact, I am run quite off my legs, and must now hang on your sleeve! Damerel, do, pray, give me your purse!’
He dived a hand mechanically into his pocket, but apparently he was not carrying his purse, for he brought it out again empty. His love, apostrophising him affectionately as a castaway pea-goose, turned from him to go in search of Aubrey, and found that Imber was standing in the doorway, his face a study in disapproval, curiosity, and astonishment.
‘Marston is paying the postboy, miss,’ he said. ‘But, begging your pardon, if he’s to be sent back to York – Miss Venetia, you don’t mean tostayhere?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she responded. ‘Tell Marston to send the chaise away, if you please!’
This seemed to penetrate to Damerel’s somewhat clouded brain. ‘No!’ he said forcefully, if a little huskily.
‘No, my lord,’ agreed Imber, relieved. ‘Shall I tell him to rack up for a while, or –’
‘Pay no heed to his lordship!’ said Venetia. ‘Surely you must be able to see that he isnothimself! Send the chaise off, and then, if you don’t wish me to drop into a swoon, do, I implore you, fetch me some supper! All I’ve eaten since yesterday is one slice of bread-and-butter, and I amfamished! Tell Mrs Imber I beg her pardon for being so troublesome, and that some cold meat will do very well!’
Imber looked for guidance towards his master, but as Damerel was occupied in an attempt to marshal his disordered wits, and paid no attention to him, he went reluctantly away to carry out Venetia’s orders.
‘Venetia!’ said Damerel, raising his head from between his hands, and speaking with painstaking clarity. ‘You can’t remain here. I won’t let you. Out of the question. Not so top-heavy I don’t know that.’
‘Nonsense, my dear friend! Aubrey is all the chaperon I need. Where is he, by the by?’
He shook his head. ‘Not here. Gone – forget the fellow’s name – some parson! Grinder.’
‘What, is Mr Appersett home again?’ she exclaimed. ‘IknewI dared not wait another hour! Has Aubrey left you already? Oh, well! it can’t be helped, and, to own the truth, I don’t care a rush!’
He frowned. ‘Not left me. Gone to dine at the Parsonage. Appersett. Yes, that’s right. He came home yesterday – or the day before. Can’t remember. But it doesn’t signify. You can’t remain here.’
She regarded him with a sapient eye. ‘Yes, I see how it is,’ she remarked. ‘I daresay it is the same with every man, for I recall that whenever Conway was in the least disguised he would take some notion into his head, in general anidiotishone, and hold to it buckle and thong!’
He repeated, very creditably: ‘“Idiotish”!’ A laugh shook him. ‘I thought I should never hear you say that again!’
‘Do I say it a great deal?’ she asked, and then, as he nodded: ‘Oh dear, how very tiresome of me! I must take care!’
‘No. Not tiresome. But,’ said his lordship, sticking to his guns, ‘you can’t remain here.’
‘Well, I warn you, love, that if you cast me out I shall build me a willow cabin at your gates – and very likely die of an inflammation of the lungs, for November isnotthe month for building willow cabins! Oh, good-evening, Marston! Have you paid the postboy for me? I am very much obliged to you!’
‘Good-evening, ma’am,’ said the valet, with one of his rare smiles. ‘May I say how very happy I am to see you here again?’
‘Thank you – I am very happy to be here!’ she replied warmly. ‘But what is to be done? Here is his lordship threatening to turn me out of doors: not at all happy to see me!’
‘Just so, ma’am,’ said Marston, casting an experienced glance at Damerel. ‘Perhaps if you would care to step up to Mr Aubrey’s room, to take off your bonnet and pelisse –? There is a nice fire burning there, and I have instructed the housemaid to carry up a can of hot water, if you should wish to wash your hands. Also your portmanteau, ma’am.’
She nodded, and crossed the room to the door.
‘No!’ said Damerel obstinately. ‘Listen to me!’
‘Yes, my lord, in one moment!’ replied Marston, ushering Venetia out of the room, and pulling the door to behind him. ‘The room next to Mr Aubrey’s shall be prepared for you, ma’am. I should perhaps explain that Mr Aubrey has driven over to dine at the Parsonage: but he will be back presently.’ He added, in a reassuring tone: ‘His lordship will very soon be himself again, ma’am.’
‘Marston, has he been getting foxed often?’ Venetia asked bluntly.
‘Oh, no, ma’am! He has been dipping rather deep, perhaps, but only when Mr Aubrey has gone up to bed.’ He hesitated,and then added, in his expressionless way: ‘It is always a sign of trouble with his lordship when he makes indentures, if you will pardon my saying so, ma’am.’
She looked frankly into his impassive countenance. ‘Has he been in trouble, Marston?’
‘Yes, ma’am. In worse trouble than I have ever known him to suffer.’
She nodded, and said with a little smile: ‘We must see what can be done to cure that.’
