Whatever qualms Venetia might, upon sober reflection, have felt on the wisdom of making Damerel acquainted with Charlotte (since to be on calling terms with him could scarcely add to her credit in the district) vanished in a leaping flame of anger. She retorted swiftly: “Dear me, ma’am, do you consider Charlotte to be in danger of succumbing to his charms? I should have supposed her to be far too deep in love with my brother—but must bow to your better knowledge of her!”
“Miss—Lanyon!” ejaculated Mrs. Scorrier.
“Well?” said Venetia, deceptively cool.
Mrs. Scorrier drew an audible breath. “I ignore your impertinence. It is quite beneath my notice. But I would have you to know that for a modest female in my daughter’s situation—a stranger to this part of the country, and coming to it without the protection of her husband—to be receiving in her house a man of ill-repute would be grossly improper. Of the impropriety of a single female’s claiming friendship with such a person I say nothing!”
“How should you, indeed? My credit won’t suffer, ‘after all! But for the rest you are very right: it was shockingly thoughtless of me, and I beg your pardon! In the circumstances, Charlotte cannot be too careful, of course. When one thinks how much scandal-broth must already be brewing— oh, have no fear, ma’am! I will tell Damerel he must on no account divulge to anyone that he has even clapped eyes on Charlotte!”
Unbecomingly flushed Mrs. Scorrier said in a voice tight with suppressed fury: “Indeed! Indeed, Miss Lanyon? So you fancy your credit won’t suffer? You are strangely mistaken, let me tell you!” She paused, and Venetia waited, her brows slightly raised, a little contemptuous smile on her lips. It seemed to her that a struggle was taking place in Mrs. Scorrier’s bosom; it certainly heaved alarmingly; but after a tense moment or two that lady turned abruptly on her heel, and stalked out of the room.
Venetia discovered that she was trembling, and was obliged to sit down. It was some time before she was able to recover her composure, and longer still before she could bring herself to acknowledge that the reproof, however offensively delivered, was not wholly without justification, and be sorry for her own loss of temper. She did at last realize it, and, after a struggle quite as severe as any Mrs. Scorrier had engaged in, went to offer the lady an apology. It was received with a cold bow, and closely folded lips.
“I ought not to have allowed my indignation to overpower me, ma’am,” Venetia persevered. “I should rather have explained to you that Lord Damerel has been so good a friend to Aubrey that to hear him abused was rather too much for me to bear with patience.”
“We will not discuss the matter, Miss Lanyon. I trust, however, that you will make it plain to Lord Damerel that his visits to Undershaw must cease.”
“No,” said Venetia gently. “I shall not do that, but you need be under no apprehension, ma’am: when he comes it will be to see Aubrey, not Charlotte.”
To this Mrs. Scorrier vouchsafed no other answer than a glance which assured Venetia that it would henceforward be war to the knife between them.
It was the prelude to a week more nearly resembling a nightmare than any Venetia had ever endured. Mrs. Scorrier, abandoning affability, spoke to her as seldom as need be, and then with formal civility; but while contriving largely to ignore her lost no opportunity that presented itself to vex her. If she could find no household custom to overset she discussed with Charlotte, in Venetia’s presence, the changes that must be made in the management and economy of Undershaw. Charlotte, rendered acutely uncomfortable by these tactics, yet lacked the strength of character to combat them. She murmured a few feeble expostulations sometimes, but for the most part gave only monosyllabic answers, and looked miserable. On the rare occasions when Aubrey was present he used his deadly tongue with such excoriating effect that Venetia begged him to keep away from the drawing-room.
To make matters worse, the domestic staff, warmly espousing Venetia’s cause, demonstrated a stubborn loyalty by referring to Venetia the most trivial order received from Mrs. Scorrier. “I will mention the matter to Miss Venetia, ma’am,” was the invariable response she received; and when she imprudently commanded Fingle to bring the phaeton round to the house to take her ladyship for a gentle airing his answer was even more forthright. “I take my orders from Mr. Aubrey, ma’am,” said that blunt Yorkshireman. Before Mrs. Scorrier could find Venetia, to lodge a complaint with her, she was herself sought out by Aubrey, who conveyed to her the unpalatable information that Fingle was his personal groom, and that he would be obliged to her if she would in future deliver her orders to William Coachman, whose business it was to drive the ladies of the establishment out, not in the phaeton, which again belonged to him and he would let none but Venetia drive, but in the barouche.
To all Venetia’s protests her champions turned deaf ears; they had determined on their course, and they pursued it with enthusiasm. The better part of her time was consequently spent either in endorsing Mrs. Scorrier’s commands, or in the hopeless attempt to reconcile bitter opponents.
For Mrs. Scorrier the situation was rendered the more exacerbating by Nurse, who, while paying no heed to her at all, was rapidly acquiring a most undesirable influence over Charlotte. In this she was assisted by the superior Miss Trossell, who was so unfavourably impressed by the Yorkshire scene, and the lack of genteel society at Undershaw, that within twenty-four hours of her arrival she declared her inability to face the rigours of life in the country, adding a strong hint that she had been lured to Yorkshire under false pretences. There was just enough insolence in her tone to rouse Mrs. Scorrier to wrath, and after a stormy scene Miss Trossell departed incontinent, being conveyed to York in the degrading gig, and sped on her way by an assurance from Nurse that her loss would not be felt.
Nor was it; for infinitely preferable to Charlotte were the attentions of Nurse, who scolded, and bullied her, but took a warm interest in her well-being, knew just what to do for her when she felt queasy, and would spend hours talking about Conway, or discussing the future of Conway’s son. Charlotte was never so happy as when resting in her room, with Nurse sewing beside the fire, and the door shut against intruders. Nurse had no sympathy to waste on nervous qualms, or fits of depression: she said: “Now, that’s quite enough of that nonsense, my lady I” and: “You put your trust in the Almighty, my lady, and do what Nurse says, and you won’t have any need to fidget yourself.” But Nurse also unearthed Conway’s christening robe, and as many of his caps and petticoats as had survived Aubrey’s infancy; and made cosy plans for the redecoration of the nurseries. She told Charlotte not to fret about the alarming month-nurse interviewed by Mrs. Scorrier in London, because she knew of a very decent woman living in York; and as for accoucheurs, she wanted to hear no more talk about any Dr. Knightons (whoever he might be), because Dr. Cornworthy, also of York, had brought quite as many babies into the world as any grand London practitioner, and very likely more; and in any event her ladyship would trust Nurse to know what was best for her, and busy herself instead with stitching a cap for the Heir.
Under this bracing treatment Charlotte revived, only to be thrown back by the nervous strain imposed on her by her mama’s determination to gain the upper hand of Venetia. She lived in sick apprehension of just such a scene as she most dreaded; and after an evening of more than ordinary tension had to be scolded by Nurse out of a fit of mild hysterics. This episode led Nurse to take Mrs. Scorrier severely to task; and as her homily included the information that a dry morsel and quietness therewith was better than a house full of sacrifices and strife, it was hardly surprising that it resulted in a sharp skirmish. Mrs. Scorrier, already jealous of Nurse’s influence over Charlotte, told her, with a smile more menacing than amiable, that she would be extremely sorry if she were obliged to recommend her daughter to send her away from Undershaw. She had no real intention of making such an attempt, for she knew very well that old and faithful retainers could not be dismissed, however irritatingly they behaved. She uttered the threat in the hope of intimidating Nurse, but its only effect was to afford Nurse with an opportunity to put her in possession of a fact which made it almost impossible for her to meet Venetia thereafter with even the appearance of complaisance.