Chapter Fourteen #3
But it appeared that Mr Hendred had silenced every hospitable protest, which, Fingle reminded Venetia, was to have been expected, seeing that when he had spent close on a se’ennight at Undershaw, when the master took and died, he would not for any persuasion suffer them to house his postilions, nor yet his cattle.
‘But he fetched his valet up with him that time, miss, which this time he hasn’t. ’
This information, which was delivered in the voice of one reaching a climax, failed to astonish Venetia.
She only said that she must go at once to greet her guest, and hurried away just as Fingle was preparing to describe to her in slow detail the several points and blemishes of the team of post-horses harnessed to the chaise.
She did not stay to change her riding-dress, but went immediately to the drawing-room, in which apartment Ribble informed her she would find Mr Hendred being entertained by her ladyship and Mrs Scorrier.
Entering it, she paused for a moment on the threshold, still holding her whip in one hand, her cheeks becomingly flushed by the wind, and the tail of her habit cast over her arm.
Then, as Mr Hendred rose from a chair by the fire, and came towards her, she let her skirt fall about her feet, cast aside her whip, and advanced to meet him with her hands held out: ‘My dear sir, of all the charming surprises! I am so happy to see you – but that, I give you warning, shan’t stop me from plucking a crow with you!
Let me tell you that we think ourselves insulted in Yorkshire when our guests send their servants and their horses to rack up at an inn! ’
Before he could answer, Mrs Scorrier broke in, saying archly: ‘Ah, did I not assure you, sir, that Miss Lanyon would cry out on you? But you must know, dear Miss Lanyon, that it has lately become the rule in many establishments far larger than this not to take in the horses of visitors, or more than one servant.’
‘That does not suit our northern notions of hospitality,’ said Venetia. ‘But tell me, sir, what brings you to Undershaw? I hope you mean to make a respectable stay with us on this occasion, and not post off in a great hurry before we have well realised that you have arrived!’
His rather severe countenance relaxed into a slight smile; he replied in a dry, precise voice: ‘My time, you know, my dear Venetia, is not as much my own as I could sometimes wish. The purpose of my visit concerns yourself, as I hope presently to explain to you.’
She was a little surprised, but since he was her principal trustee supposed that he must have come to discuss some matter of business with her.
She twinkled at him, and said: ‘If you are come to tell me that my fortune has vanished away on that mysterious thing called ’Change, wait until I have provided myself with a few burnt feathers and some sal volatile! ’
He smiled again, but perfunctorily, because such a suggestion was too shocking to be humorous.
Mrs Scorrier again insinuated herself into the conversation.
‘It is too bad of you to keep her in suspense, Mr Hendred, particularly when you have such a delightful treat in store for her! Don’t fear, Miss Lanyon!
You have my word for it that your uncle’s errand is such as must be more likely to cast you into transports than into dismay! ’
By this time two circumstances had been made plain to Venetia.
From Mrs Scorrier’s effusive civility she gathered that she was well acquainted with Mr Hendred’s social and financial standing, and was determined to ingratiate herself with him; and from the cold glance with which her efforts were received that Mr Hendred had taken her in strong dislike.
Venetia thought it as well to remove him from her vicinity before he was provoked into giving her an acid set-down, so she invited him to go with her to the morning-room, since there were one or two matters of business she would like to discuss with him.
Mrs Scorrier took this in surprisingly good part, explaining her complaisance to her daughter, as soon as they were alone, by the simple announcement that Mr Hendred was said to be worth every penny of ￡20,000 a year.
That made Charlotte stare, for there was nothing in Mr Hendred’s appearance to suggest opulence.
But for the subtle distinction attaching to any coat, however plain, of Weston’s making he might have passed for a lawyer in respectable but unassuming circumstances.
He was a thin man, of rather less than medium height, with spindle-shanks, sparse gray hair, and a sharp-featured countenance which bore all the marks of chronic dyspepsia.
He always dressed with neatness and propriety, but since any form of extravagance or display was abhorrent to him he wore no other jewellery than his signet-ring, and a modest gold pin securing the folds of his neckcloth; never sported startling waistcoats or exaggerated shirt-points; and had inexorably transferred his patronage from Stultz to Weston when Mr Stultz had been so unwise as to send him his new coat embellished with buttons designed according to the very latest fashion, and twice as large as Mr Hendred considered seemly.
His avoidance of the extremes of fashion notwithstanding, Mr Hendred was a gentleman of the first consequence, for besides possessing all the advantages of a very large fortune he was so well connected as to make it unwise to utter disparaging remarks in his presence about any member of the nobility, since the chances were that he was in some way related to that particular peer.
He was a Member of Parliament, a Justice of the Peace, and, since his remarkable turn for business was allied to a rigid sense of duty, his was the first name that occurred to anyone needing a trustee or an executor.
Without being clutchfisted he liked to be beforehand with the world.
He would tolerate no unnecessary expenditure in his household; and while he paid as much as ￡60 a year to a French cook, and never travelled with hired post-boys, his lady knew better than attempt to persuade him to engage one more footman than he thought necessary for the smooth running of the establishment.
Besides a mansion in Cavendish Square he had a large estate in Berkshire, and two less important ones in different parts of the country; but, unlike the fifth Duke of Devonshire, who had maintained no fewer than ten houses fully staffed the year round, he kept his in good order with no more than skeleton staffs.
Venetia had first made his acquaintance when she had been invited by her aunt to spend a week at Harrogate.
Mr Hendred had been advised to try what the famous waters would do to cure him of his stomach disorders, but unfortunately neither the waters nor the climate agreed with his constitution, and after ten days of miserable discomfort he beat a nauseated retreat.
But in spite of his ailments he had been a kind and an attentive host, promoting every scheme for Venetia’s entertainment, and contriving to make it plain to her, without committing the impropriety of uttering any criticism of his brother-in-law’s eccentricity, that he strongly disapproved of the restricted life she was obliged to lead, and would be glad to rescue her from it.
That had not been possible; and when, on Sir Francis Lanyon’s death, he had renewed his offer of hospitality it had seemed to her no more possible than before.
She had declined it; he had acquiesced in her decision; and as the matter had then been allowed to drop she had supposed that he had accepted her refusal as irrevocable.
She was therefore a good deal startled to learn from him that his sole purpose in coming to Undershaw was to carry her off immediately to Cavendish Square, where he trusted she would believe herself to be a welcome addition to his family.