He strode away to the library, and the door shut with a snap behind him. Imber looked to see what Nidd made of this, not that he was likely to say, because he was as close as Marston, and dull as a beetle. Nidd was walking off to the stables, so there was nobody to gossip with but Mrs. Imber, and she was in a bad skin, because her dough hadn’t risen, and only said: “Don’t come fidgeting me!” and: “Get out of my way, do!” Imber wished himself at Undershaw, to see what they made of it there, when Miss Venetia came in looking like she’d seen a ghost. Proper set-about they’d be, and no wonder!
But only three people at Undershaw saw Venetia upon her return, and neither the undergroom nor the young housemaid who waited on her noticed more than her dripping habit, and the ruin of her hat, with its curled feather hanging sodden and straight beside her rain-washed face. She went up the backstairs to her room, and opened the door to find the maid there, with Nurse, and the room a welter of silver paper, and trunks, with gowns and cloaks laid out on the bed ready to be packed, the linen in which her furs had been stored all summer lying in a heap on the floor, and the sour apples which had kept the moth at bay scenting the air.
Nurse broke instantly into angry scolding, while Venetia stood on the threshold, her eyes, with that blind look in them, wandering round the disordered room. Then, quite suddenly, Nurse rounded on Jenny, driving her out of the room with orders to fetch up a can of hot water, instead of standing there like a gowk, when anyone could see Miss Venetia was soaked to the skin, and likely to catch her death. She drew Venetia to the fire, still scolding, but differently, just as years ago she had fondly scolded a little girl, appalled by some catastrophe, until she stopped crying. The little girl had known that nothing dreadful could happen to her when Nurse was there; Venetia knew now that Nurse was powerless to help her, but still was a little comforted. Nurse stripped off her wet habit, and huddled her into a dressing-gown, and made her sit by the fire, while she herself bustled about, first trotting off to mix a cordial, which she made Venetia drink, then rubbing her chilled feet, tidying the room, laying out an evening-gown, and all the time talking, talking, but never waiting for answers, and only looking at Venetia out of the corners of her sharp old eyes. Let Miss Venetia sit quiet for a while: plenty of time before she need dress again! And no sitting up late, mind, with so much as there was to do, and Mr. Hendred wishful to make an early start! And no need to worry about Undershaw, either, not that she would do that for long, with all the exciting things she would be doing in London, and her aunt so kind, and new faces to see, and goodness only knew how many treats in store! It would seem strange, at first, and it stood to reason she would feel homesick, missing all the people she knew, but let her trust Nurse, and not fall into the dismals, because she would soon be better, never fear!
Venetia, understanding, tried to smile at her, and clasped her hand for a grateful moment.
“There, my poppet! there, my dove!” Nurse crooned, stroking her tumbled locks. “Don’t cry, my pretty, don’t cry!”
But it was Nurse who cried, not Venetia; and presently, seeing how calm she was, Nurse went away, hoping that she might drop off to sleep for a little while, so tired as she was.
When Nurse came back to help her to dress for dinner (for she would not let Jenny wait on Venetia tonight) she thought that she must have enjoyed a nap, for she had got a little colour back into her cheeks, and seemed more like herself, able to decide what must be packed to go to London, and what Nurse must store away in camphor and keep for her at Undershaw. She had made a list of the people she must see before she left, and the things she must attend to; and Nurse entered briskly into these matters, thinking: Anything to take her mind off, and least said soonest mended.
She had just fastened Venetia’s dress when a knock fell on the door, and was followed by Aubrey’s voice, demanding admittance. Venetia called to him to come in, but Nurse felt her stiffen under her hands, as she laid a gauze scarf over her shoulders, and said sharply, when he did come in: “Now, don’t come worriting Miss Venetia, Master Aubrey, for she’s tired, and has enough to think of without you adding to it!”
“I want to speak to you before you come downstairs,” he said, paying no heed to Nurse.
Venetia’s heart sank, for she knew by the look in his face that he was going to be difficult. She said, however: “Yes, love, to be sure! Did you have good sport? Were you caught in the rain? I was! Thank you, Nurse! I shall do now: no one ever dresses my hair as well as you! Oh, Aubrey, my head is in such a whirl! I feel quite distracted, and can hardly believe it is true, and I am really going to London at last!”
She sat down at her dressing-table, so that she was not obliged to look at him, and began to select from her trinket-box the ornaments she wished to wear. As Nurse shut the door, he said: “You mean to go, then?”
“Yes, how can you ask me? It is exactly what will suit me best, and you, too.”
“It won’t suit me to stay with Aunt Hendred, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No, not that, although— Have you seen my uncle?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve seen him! I told him I shouldn’t go, unless you particularly wished for me.”
“Aubrey, you weren’t uncivil?” she exclaimed.
“No, no!” he answered impatiently. “I said what was proper, of course! I told him that Appersett having been away I was got behindhand, and must apply. He understood. At any rate, he didn’t care. My aunt would as lief I didn’t go, I know. That don’t signify! But he said you had told him of your scheme to set up house—wished me to promise I wouldn’t encourage you, since it wouldn’t do!”
“My dear, I hope you did no such thing! It’s quite nonsensical! That’s why I am so glad that this chance has come in my way. I had made up my mind to it that there can be no staying at Undershaw while Mrs. Scorrier remains fixed, and how can I find a house that will suit us unless I go to town? Do you dislike it? I won’t drag you away from Mr. Appersett, if you do, but when you have gone up to Cambridge, there will be the vacations, and—”
“That’s not it!” he interrupted. “There must be tutors to spare in London, or I could study alone. What I don’t understand—Venetia, does Jasper know of this?”
“Yes, I rode over to tell him—thinking that very likely you wouldn’t care to go to Cavendish Square, and wishing to be sure that—”
“What did he say to it?” Aubrey demanded, frowning.
“Need you ask? He said instantly that he would be glad to have you, and for as long as you choose to stay. Oh, and I was to tell you to bring your horses, and the dogs, and that reminds me, love, if you do that you must take Fingle as well. And make him understand that Nidd is head groom at the Priory: you know what he is!”
“Oh, for God’s sake—!” he broke in irritably. “I’ll take care of all that! Is Jasper willing you should go? I thought— Venetia, are you going to marry him?”
“Good gracious, no! Oh, you are thinking of a silly talk we had once! I wish you will forget it, for I fancy I shall never marry anyone. I thought at one time I might marry Edward; then I wondered if Damerel might not suit me better; and now—well, now I can’t think of anything but London, so it’s plain I am a hopeless case!”
“I thought you were in love—both of you.”
“Only flirting, stoopid!”
He stood looking at her for a minute. “Well, I still think it. I daresay I don’t notice a great deal, but I know when you’re shamming it!”
“But, Aubrey, indeed—”
“Oh, hold your tongue!” he snapped, his temper flaring up. “If you don’t choose to tell me, it’s all one to me, but stop pitching that gammon! I don’t mean to meddle: I detest meddlers!”