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Updated: May 13, 2025
Surely there was something diabolical in the whole of this business and the manner in which everything and every circumstance headed him off from escape. After dinner he was sitting down to attempt a literary forlorn hope, when a sharp voice in the hall made him pause. The door opened, and Venetia Birdbrook entered.
His uncle, the Duke of Melford, for that was the choleric one's name, his mother, the dowager Countess of Rochester, and his sister, the Hon. Venetia Birdbrook, now all rose up and got together in a covey before making their exit, and leaving this bad business and the fool who had brought it about. You can fancy their feelings.
It was not. He had now an audience in touch with him. He suppressed names, or rather altered them, substituting Manchester for Rochester and Birdwood for Birdbrook. The audience did not care, it recked nothing of titles, it wanted Story and it got it. At about one o'clock the recital was interrupted whilst tea was made, at two o'clock or a little after the tale finished. "Well?" said Jones.
She sprang up suddenly. A knock had come to the door, it opened and a servant announced Miss Birdbrook. Venetia had not changed that evening, she was still in her big hat. She ignored Jones, and, standing, spoke tersely to Teresa. "So you have left us?" "Yes," replied the other. "I have come back here, d'you mind?" "I?" said Venetia.
My professional reputation is at stake and I must ask you to come with me to Curzon Street and put the whole matter before the family. I wish to have a full consultation." The Duke demurred for a moment. Then he agreed and the two men left the club. At Curzon Street they found the Dowager Countess and Venetia Birdbrook about to retire for the night.
Venetia Birdbrook, in pursuit of the wife of another man, but that they were travelling without luggage. If, in Philadelphia, he had dreamt of himself in such a position he would have been disturbed as to the state of his health and the condition of his liver, yet now, in reality, the thing did not seem preposterous, he was concerned as to the fact about the want of luggage.
"Yes, my Lord." "And see here, Church, let no one in. Lord Langwathby, or anyone else. I want a little peace. By the way, have a taxi sent for, and tell me when my sister's luggage is down." In the middle of breakfast, Church came in to say that Miss Birdbrook was departing and Jones came into the hall to verify the fact. Venetia had brought a crocodile skin travelling bag and a trunk.
The woman had left an envelope on the table, he glanced at it. THE HONBLE: VENETIA BIRDBROOK, 10A Carlton House Terrace, London, S. W. Victor read the inscription written in a bold female hand. It told him where he was, he was in the breakfast-room of 10A Carlton House Terrace, but it told him nothing more. Was the Honble: Venetia Birdbrook his wife, or at least the wife of his twin image?
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