“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.”
“Yes, ma’am: I should be extremely glad,” said Marston, bowing slightly. “May I suggest supper in—about half an hour?”
She was so hungry that it took considerable resolution to enable her to suppress an instinctive protest; but she managed to do it, and even to acquiesce graciously, since it was evident that he wished her to keep out of the way. She went upstairs, and was rewarded for her docility as soon as she caught sight of her reflection in the looking-glass in Aubrey’s bedchamber. In the indifferent light provided by the one candle brought in by the chambermaid at the inn she had dressed by guess, and had done no more than drag a comb hastily through her curls before tieing on her hat; but Marston had caused two branches of candles to be set on the dressing-table, and in their relentless light Venetia saw with horror that she presented almost as dishevelled an appearance as did her castaway host. All thought of supper forgotten, she ripped off her hat, flung her pelisse on to the bed, and set about the urgent task of making herself once more fit to be seen. By the time this had been accomplished rather more than half an hour had elapsed. She disposed a very handsome zephyr shawl across her elbows, in the approved mode, took a last, critical look at her reflection, blew out the candles, and went downstairs again to the dining-room.
Here she found matters much improved, all traces of debauch having been removed, the table freshly laid, the fire made up, and Damerel, his disordered attire set severely to rights, miraculously sobered. He was in the act of draining a tankard when Venetia entered the room. She looked a little doubtfully at it, but whatever its contents had been they seemed to have exercised a beneficial effect upon his system, for he said in a perfectly clear voice, as he handed the empty tankard to Marston: “That’s better! Bread-and-cheese, and I shall do.” He turned, and smiled at Venetia, saying lightly, but with a glow in his eyes that warmed her heart: “Quite starving, my poor child? You shall be served immediately! Come and sit down—and let me set your anxious mind at rest! I won’t drive you from my roof: we have hit on a better scheme—or, to be honest, Marston has done so! My head isn’t yet capable of devising schemes. You have come here to consult with Aubrey on some important matter—don’t forget that!—and I am going to remove to the Red Lion. Thus we observe the proprieties!” He pushed in her chair, as she seated herself at the table, and added, still in that light tone: “You are doing your hair in a new way: very smart!”
She realized that he was going to be difficult, but she was not much perturbed. Whatever his tongue might utter, his eyes betrayed him. She said chattily: “Do you like it? I hope you do, for I’m assured that it’s all the crack!”
He had moved to his own chair, and he now lifted his quizzing-glass to one eye. “Yes, excellent! A la Sappho, I fancy.”
“Wretch!” she said, with her infectious chuckle. “Do you know the names of all the styles of female coiffure?”
“Most of ’em, I think,” he replied brazenly. He sat down, letting his quizzing-glass fall on the end of its long ribbon. “What has brought you here, Venetia?”
“The mail coach—and excessively uncomfortable it was!”
“Don’t quibble, girl!”
She smiled at him, saying softly: “Stoopid!”
She won no answering smile; he was looking pale, and rather grim; and after a tiny pause, he said: “I wish to God you had not come!”
“Oh! That’s—that’s a horrid set-down, particularly when it seemed to me that you were glad to see me.”
“I was badly foxed—I’m still a trifle concerned, but no longer out of my senses!”
“Oh, dear, do you mean to kiss me only when you’re foxed?”
“I don’t mean to kiss you at all!” he said harshly.
“Then of course I won’t press you to,” she replied. “Nothing is more detestable than to be pressed to do what one hasn’t the smallest wish to do! I have lately had a great deal of experience of that. I know of only one worse thing, and that is to be beset by well-meaning but perfectly mutton-headed persons who can’t keep from meddling with what doesn’t concern them.”
“Venetia—” He checked himself, as Imber came in, and sat in frowning silence while a bowl of soup was set before her.
“How very good it smells!” said Venetia, picking up her spoon. “Oh, Imber, fresh bannocks? Yes, indeed I’ll take one! Now I know I’m at home again!” She turned her head to address Damerel. “My aunt, I must tell you, has a French cook. He contrives the most delectable dishes, but I couldn’t help yearning sometimes for plain Yorkshire food.”
“How do you like London?” he asked, as Imber filled Venetia’s glass with lemonade.
“Not at all. Well, perhaps that is being unjust to it! Under different conditions I think I might have liked it very well.” She added, as Imber left the room: “I was too unhappy, and too lonely to be entertained. I had no one to laugh with, you see.”
He said in a constricted voice: “You felt strange, of course. Were they kind to you, your uncle and aunt?”
“Very kind. Only—well, never mind! I don’t think I can explain it to you.”
“Explain it to me? Do you think I don’t know? Do you think I haven’t missed you every day—every minute?” he demanded impetuously. “And pictured you, sitting just where you are now, as you sat on that first evening, with that smile in your eyes—” He broke off. “Well, you need not explain it to me! I know! But believe me, believe me, my dear delight, it will pass!”
“Yes, so you told me, when you said goodbye to me,” she agreed. “My aunt told me so too, and I’ve no doubt my uncle would, for I’m sure he told you it would. But what none of you has made at all plain to me is why you should think it a—a consummation devoutly to be wished! However, I don’t mean to be troublesome, so I won’t tease you with questions. Oh, dear, I can hear Imber coming back! I think it would be better if I don’t tell you what brought me here until we can be safe from interruption. I have so many other things to tell you, too! Oh, Damerel, I have seen your cousin! He was at a rout-party, and I heard his name spoken, and nearly disgraced myself by laughing! He is a splendid quiz!”
He smiled, but with an effort. “A quiz? Good God, what can you be thinking of? Top-of-the-Trees is Alfred! You should see him when he goes upon the strut! Who is in town? Not many people yet, I fear, but I hope you made a few agreeable acquaintances?”
She responded readily, and continued to chat in an easy, cheerful way, while she ate her supper. Damerel did not say very much, but sat watching her, a queer smile in his eyes which made her long to put her arms round him, because she thought that just so would he smile at a dear memory. When Imber set apples and nuts on the table, and finally withdrew from the room, Damerel said: “And now, Venetia, tell me what happened to make you take this crazy step!”
“I will,” she replied. “But first, my dear friend, I have a question to put to you! Why did you never tell me that my mother wasn’t dead, but very much alive?”
He was cracking a walnut between his long fingers, but he looked up at that, and said: “So you’ve found that out, have you?”