Venetia Read online

  ‘How shabby!’ said Venetia. ‘He is – I mean, he sounds to me quite odious!’

  ‘Yes, but I was thankful for it!’ said her ladyship earnestly. ‘Only think what my feelings must have been had he proved to be a man of insinuating address! And for Sir John to declare that dearest Clara has not enough beauty to engage the interest of such a man as Damerel is not at all to the point, besides being a most unnatural thing to say of his own daughter! He would have been well-served if Damerel had thrown out lures to Clara, bringing him in upon us as he did! But all he will say is that he doesn’t choose to live on bad terms with his neighbours, and that it is a great piece of nonsense in me to suppose that Damerel is so ramshackle as to behave improperly to any female in Clara’s situation. Very pretty talking, when everyone knows he didn’t scruple to seduce a lady under her husband’s very nose!’

  ‘Who was she?’ interrupted Venetia curiously. ‘What became of her?’

  ‘I don’t know that, but she was one of the Rendlesham girls – there were three of them, and all great beauties, which was fortunate, because Rendlesham was as poor as a church mouse, and yet they all made good marriages! Not that I mean to say that one prospered, and for my part I shouldn’t have liked it for one of my daughters, even if Sir John were as monstrously in the wind as they say Rendlesham was. Well, for one thing he had the most peculiar name: Vobster! I believe he came into the world hosed and shod, as the saying is, but his father was a shocking mushroom, and as for his grandfather I’m sure no one ever knew who he was! The on-dit was that he owned a two-to-one shop – at least, so my brother George was used to say! – but I daresay that was nothing but a Banbury story. At all events, Gregory Vobster was as rich as Midas, which was what made him acceptable to Lord Rendlesham. He was used to play off all the airs of an exquisite, I recall, but when the pinch came he was not at all up to the rig. Nothing would prevail upon him to consent to a divorce! He behaved very shabbily, just wishing to be revenged, you know, and if he hadn’t broken his neck, overturning his curricle on the Newmarket road, that wretched female would be still married to him! But the thing is, my dear, that that happened not three years after the break-up of the marriage, and though I don’t know why, I do know that she didn’t marry Damerel, which everyone expected she would, of course. Which gives me a very poor notion of him, and makes me excessively reluctant to receive him in my house! What’s more, if he hoped, by abandoning Lady Sophia, to become reconciled with his own family he was well-served, for they utterly cast him off, and it wasn’t until Lady Damerel died that he came back to England. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for his having inherited an independence from old Matthew Stone – he was his godfather, and what they call a chicken-nabob – I daresay he must have been reduced to absolute penury – let alone not being able to run off with Lady Sophia in the first place! Which all goes to show what folly it is to endow young men with fortunes.’

  ‘Cast him off!’ Venetia exclaimed. ‘They would have done better to have cast themselves off!’

  ‘Cast themselves off?’ repeated Lady Denny.

  ‘Yes, for having done so ill by him as to let him make a cake of himself over this Lady Sophia! It happened when he was twenty-two, didn’t it? Well, then! I dare swear she was older than he, too. Was she?’

  ‘She was a few years older, I fancy, but –’

  ‘Then you may depend upon it that it was a great deal more her fault than his, ma’am! And although I suppose he ought to have married her in the end I can’t help thinking that she only came by her deserts when he didn’t. In fact, I begin to feel almost sorry for the Wicked Baron. Does he mean to make a long stay in Yorkshire? Shall we be obliged to recognise him?’

  ‘I must do so, if we should chance to meet, but I am determined it shan’t go beyond a civil bow; and as for inviting him to dine with us in a formal way, I have begged Sir John not to ask it of me! “And pray, which of our acquaintance would you have me invite to meet him?” I said. “The Yardleys? The Traynes? Poor Mrs Motcomb? Or have you our sweet Venetia in your mind?” I am happy to say that he saw that it would be quite improper. It is a fortunate circumstance, since I don’t mean to be drawn into the slightest intimacy, that Damerel is a bachelor. If the gentlemen choose to visit him they may do so: he cannot invite ladies to his parties.’

  On this triumphant conclusion Lady Denny departed, leaving her young friend to await events with such mixed feelings that she could not have told whether she wished Damerel to find some way of seeing her again, or whether she would be glad to know that he had left the Priory. It was certainly a bore to be confined within the bounds of the park, and that, she had decided, must be her fate, unless she rode with Aubrey, for however little heed she paid to Nurse’s dark warnings she was fully alive to the possibility of Damerel’s lying in wait for her, and had no doubt that if he were to find her walking by herself he would believe her to be courting his advances. On the whole, she thought, she would be glad to know that he had gone away. He was dangerous; his conduct had been inexcusable; and to meet him again might be demoralising to one who had led so cloistered a life as hers had been.

  But when a week crept by without a sign from him she was piqued. He was still at the Priory, but he was making no effort whatsoever to become acquainted with his neighbours. The village gossips, much astonished, reported that he was actually interesting himself in the business of the estate; and Croyde, his long-suffering bailiff, permitted for the first time to lay before him all the crying needs that were never filled, was indulging a flicker of optimism: though his lordship had not yet authorised expenditure he was at least listening to advice, and seeing with his own eyes the slow decay of good land under bad husbandry. Edward, a sceptic, said that the only thing that might induce Damerel to spend a groat on repairs or improvements would be the hope that he might wring back from the estate a greater yield to squander on his amusements. Venetia would have suspected that his sudden interest in his inheritance was nothing more than an excuse for remaining at the Priory had he made some attempt to seek her out. She thought it would not have been difficult for him to have found a pretext for calling at Undershaw; and being far too innocent to realise that Damerel, an expert in the art of dalliance, was employing tactics which none knew better than he to be tantalising, she was forced to conclude that he had not been as strongly attracted to her as she had supposed. There was nothing in store at Undershaw for his lordship but a set-down, but it was disappointing to be granted no opportunity to deliver this. She found herself imagining a second encounter; and, between disgust at herself and resentment at Damerel for holding her so cheap, became so nearly cross that Aubrey asked her if she felt quite the thing.

  And in the end it was neither she who brought about a second meeting, nor Damerel, but Aubrey.

  Damerel was riding home with Croyde after one of his tours of inspection when a faint cry for help made him break off what he was saying, and look round. The cry was repeated, and Croyde, standing in his stirrups, so that he could see over the hedge that straggled beside the lane, exclaimed: ‘Good God, it’s Mr Aubrey! Ay, I thought as much! – that nappy young chestnut of his has come down with him, like I always said he would! If your lordship will excuse me, I’ll have to attend to him.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Is there a gate, or do we push through the hedge?’

  There was a gate a little farther along the lane, and in a very few moments both men had dismounted, and Croyde was kneeling beside Aubrey, who was lying just clear of the ditch which, with the hedge above it, separated the stubble-field from a stretch of pasturage. At a little distance his horse was standing; and when he moved nervously away from Damerel’s advance it was seen that he was dead lame.

  Aubrey was sickly white, and in considerable pain. He said faintly: ‘I came down on my weak leg. I can’t get up. Think I must have stunned myself. Where’s Rufus? Jumped off his fore. I hope to God he didn’t break his knees!’

  ‘Ne