“Thank you!” said Venetia, giving her crushed dress a little shake. “Yes, indeed I have, though I daresay you might not think it a very good joke, but that’s because you don’t know Oswald.”
“Well, who the devil is he? Your brother?”
“Good God, no! He is Sir John Denny’s son, and the top of his desire is to be mistaken for the Corsair. He combs his hair into wild curls, knots silken handkerchiefs round his neck, and broods over the dark passions in his soul.”
“Does he, indeed? And what has this puppy to say to anything?”
She picked up her basket. “Only that if ever he meets you he will be quite green with jealousy, for you are precisely what he thinks he would like to be—even though you don’t study the picturesque in your attire.”
He looked thunderstruck for a moment, and ejaculated, “A Byronic hero—! Oh, my God! Why, you abominable—” He broke off, as a cock pheasant exploded out of the wood, and said irritably: “Must that worthless dog of yours make my birds as wild as be-damned?”
“Yes, because my brother doesn’t like him to do so at Undershaw, which is why I brought him with me today. Putting up game is what he particularly enjoys doing, and as he’s quite useless as a gun-dog, poor fellow, he gets very few opportunities to do it. Do you object? I can’t see why you should, when you never come here to shoot!”
“I never have done so!” he retorted. “This year is quite another matter, however! I own I had not meant to stay in Yorkshire above a few days, but that was before I made your acquaintance. I am going to remain at the Priory for the present!”
“How splendid!” said Venetia affably. “In general it is a trifle dull here, but that will be quite at an end if you are to remain amongst us!” She caught sight of Flurry, called him to heel, and dropped a slight curtsy. “Goodbye!”
“Oh, not goodbye!” he protested. “I mean to know you better, Miss Lanyon of Undershaw!”
“To be sure, it does seem a pity you should not, after such a promising start, but life, you know, is full of disappointments, and that, I must warn you, is likely to prove one of them.”
He fell into step beside her, as she made her way towards the turnstile. “Afraid?” he asked provocatively.
“Well, what a stupid question!” she said. “I should have supposed you must have known yourself to be the ogre who would infallibly pounce on every naughty child in the district!”
“As bad as that?” he said, rather startled. “Had I better try to retrieve my shocking reputation, do you think?”
They had reached the turnstile, and she passed through it. “Oh no, we should have nothing to talk about any more!”
“Vixen!” he remarked. “Well—! Tell your lame brother how shamefully I used you, and fear nothing! I won’t pounce on him.”
III
venetia went home with her thoughts in quite unaccustomed disorder. Feeling that after such an agitating experience a period of calm reflection was necessary she walked slowly, thinking over all the circumstances of her first encounter with a rake; but after dwelling on the impropriety of Damerel’s conduct, and telling herself how fortunate she had been to have escaped a worse fate, it rather horrifyingly occurred to her that she had shown herself to be lacking in sensibility. A delicately nurtured female (unless all the books lied) would have swooned from the shock of being kissed by a strange man, or at the very least would have been cast into the greatest affliction, her peace cut up, her spirits wholly overpowered. What she would not have done was to have stayed to bandy words with her wolfish assailant. Nor would she have been conscious of a feeling of exhilaration. Venetia was very conscious of it. She had not enjoyed being so ruthlessly handled, but for one crazy instant she had known an impulse to respond, and through the haze of her own wrath she had caught a glimpse of what life might be. Not, of course, that she wished to be mauled by strangers. But if Edward had ever kissed her thus! The thought drew a smile from her, for the vision of Edward swept out of his rigid propriety was improbable to the point of absurdity. Edward was sternly master of his passions; she wondered, for the first time, if these were very strong, or whether he was, in fact, rather coldblooded.
The question, being of no particular moment, remained unanswered; Damerel, entering rudely on to the scene, instantly dominated it, and whether he was the villain or merely a minor character it was useless to deny that he had infused life into a dull play.
Venetia found it hard to make up her mind what to tell Aubrey. If she disclosed her meeting with Damerel he might ask her questions she would find it difficult to answer; on the other hand, if she said nothing, and Damerel did succeed in improving his acquaintance with her, he would certainly make Aubrey’s acquaintance too; and although he could scarcely be so shameless as to refer to the nature of his previous encounter with her he might well mention that he had met her before, which would surely make Aubrey think it odd of her not to have told him of so unprecedented an event. Then she thought that the likeliest chance was that Damerel had no real intention of remaining at the Priory, and decided to keep her own counsel.
As matters turned out she was heartily glad of it. It was Aubrey who first spoke of Damerel’s return, but as he had very little interest in his neighbours and none at all in a man he had never laid eyes on, he did so quite casually, saying as he sat down to dinner that day: “Oh, by the by! I heard in the village that Damerel’s back again—but without Paphians! Alone, in fact.”
“What, no scandal-broth brewing? That won’t please the quizzy ones! I wonder what brings him?”
“Business, I should think,” replied Aubrey indifferently. “High time he did look into his affairs here.”
She agreed, but did not pursue the topic. It was to be raised again, though not by Aubrey. Such an exciting piece of news naturally spread rapidly over the district, and before nightfall both Nurse and Mrs. Gurnard, forced into temporary alliance, had impressed upon Venetia the need for her to behave with the greatest circumspection. On no account must she step beyond the garden without an escort. There was no telling what might happen to her if she didn’t do as she was bid, said Nurse darkly.
Venetia soothed the alarms of these two well-wishers; but when Edward Yardley came to Undershaw on the following day she was never nearer losing her temper with him.
“I daresay he won’t remain at the Priory above a day or two, but while he is here it will be best for you to discontinue your solitary walks,” Edward said, with a calm assumption of authority which she found so irritating that she was obliged to choke down a hasty retort. “You know,” he added, with a wry smile, “that I have never liked that custom of yours.”
Oswald Denny visited her too, but the form his solicitude took was a dramatic assurance that if Damerel should dare to molest her he would know how to answer “the fellow”. The significant laying of his hand upon an imaginary sword-hilt was too much for Venetia’s gravity: she went into a peal of laughter, which provoked him to exclaim: “You laugh, but I’ve lived where they hold life cheap! I promise you I should have no compunction in calling this fellow out, were he to offer you the smallest affront!”
After this Venetia was not at all surprised when, two days later, the Dennys’ barouche-landau disgorged Lady Denny at Undershaw. But it soon transpired that her ladyship’s object was not so much to warn her young friend to beware of encountering a notorious rake as to enjoy a comfortable gossip about him. She had actually spoken to him! Well, more than that: Sir John, meeting him by chance, had seized the opportunity to try if he could not win his support over some matter of parish business; and finding him perfectly amiable, had brought him back to Ebbersley, further to discuss the affair, and had ended by inviting him to eat luncheon there.