Babe (24 page)

She attempted to make some sound, that came out very much as a growl, due to her gag. “You are angry that I took you away before the ball,” he began softly, persuasively. “The hour had come. Time passes, and I sleep alone. Clivedon means to make you marry Ellingwood. He told me as much today. You think it only spite that I was not invited to your party, but that did not enter into it, though I am glad to have kept you away from the ball. You may imagine what agonies of jealousy my
psychë
would have been subjected to this night, to think of you in other men’s arms. He would have announced your engagement to the mannikin, and who knows, he might have induced you to accept. It grieves me to say the man has some influence over you, but it will be my task to change that. I will see my Aphrodite again in all her splendor, without pieces of lace stuck into her bosom, and wearing her old wanton smiles of yore.”

Again she tried to speak through her gag, tried to wiggle her arms free, but Romeo made good his boast. He was accomplished at arranging a runaway match. She was missing her own ball, fled from the house, without a word to anyone. With her history, no one would believe it had not been her own doing. It would be the crowning exploit of the infamous Babe Manfred. She was ruined.

“Don’t struggle, my beloved. I don’t want a scratch on those arms. I used the softest bands I could find—this beautiful blue silk, purchased this afternoon to match your eyes. And the blanket—isn’t it soft? —comes from Greece. I have scented it, as well as your gag, with verbena for your delight.” He sniffed it, and smiled. “Don’t worry your head about a thing. I have made all arrangements. I have got plenty of money—got it from Clysemore, a beautiful ironic touch, for which I congratulate myself. We shall have a luxurious journey. I have arranged all in advance. Rooms at a little inn just west of Chertsey. I had to leave their preparation in the hands of my servants, for I hadn’t time to go myself, but there will be music, wine, and a feast. Tomorrow we shall proceed to my father’s home in Hampshire to receive his benediction. From there, safe from Lord Clydeholm, we shall be married and go together to Greece. Ah, Greece in early summer with you! I am ravaged at the exquisite contemplation of it.”

Again she tried to argue with him, but he only put his arms around her shoulder and kissed her eyes. “You feel warm. I shall take off the blanket,” he said, and did it, with infinite tenderness.

She now felt uncomfortably cold, but there was no telling him anything with a gag in her mouth. “Do you wonder how I hit on this excellent scheme?” he asked, in a conversational tone meant to lighten the tedium of the journey. “I took a page from the Romans. They were clever, too, in their own rude way. The Rape of the Sabine Women, you recall? I have decided to rape you.”

An angry, incoherent sound came from her throat. “My love, don’t let any base thought enter your head. I do not refer to actual physical rape in a criminal sense. To seize and carry off is the true meaning of the word. When the Romans were deprived of wives, they attended a Sabine feast and carried off the women. What fun it must have been! But as I was not invited to your feast, I had to contrive to do it in a slightly different manner. The effect will be the same. The Romans and Sabines eventually came to amicable terms. In fact, the Sabines migrated to Rome and they became allies. Men do not quarrel irrevocably over women—only over power and money. We shall migrate to Greece, and if Clivemore follows us, I shall perhaps kill him after all,’” he added, to contradict himself.

She was tired, weak, and so upset she could struggle no more. She sunk against his arm and gave away to despair. A hot tear started in her eye. Romeo soon discovered it, for his hands were gently brushing her hair and cheeks as he spoke. “My beloved—my delight—don’t weep! Don’t mar your eyes with red streaks. I want you perfect, as you always are.” When she remained quiet and unstruggling, he removed first the gag, then the arm bands, pointing out to her at each step what a fine quality they were, to do homage to her beauty. Then he selected in the darkness a handful of flowers and placed them in her lap.

“Romeo, please take me back,” she said, but in a small voice.

“Never!”

“You must. I’ll be ruined if you don’t.”

“I have taken care of all that. From my father’s home I shall write to Clivesmore and explain the whole, so that no blame can attach to you for anything.”

She saw there was to be no arguing, no bargaining with him, and started scheming instead. “Where are we to stop for the night, did you say?” she asked.

“We shall break the journey halfway, just beyond Chertsey.”

“That is so far away. Could we not stop sooner?”

“No, alas! Clivehague might come after us, or Ellingwood. No, not Ellingwood. He would not have the temerity.”

“But I am awfully thirsty.”

“Dear heart, I have taken care of all contingencies. I have brought along a bottle of ouzo,” he said, and pulled from the pocket of the coach a bottle of some liquid that he passed to her. “I forgot to bring glasses!” he exclaimed, mortified at this solecism. “Forgive me. No, it is unforgivable. But pray try to find it in your heart to forgive. Here, drink it from my hands,” he offered, uncorking the bottle.

“No—don’t. Never mind.”

“Perhaps you would deign to try a sip from the bottle?” he suggested, pressing it forward.

To be rid of him, she tipped the bottle up and tasted a liquid she was very sure was never meant for human consumption. It was surely poison, it tasted so strong and so foul. She spluttered and pushed it away.

“You don’t like it,” he said, unhappy. “You must learn to like ouzo. My friends will be offended if you do not. But I too disliked it at first. It is an acquired taste, like Mozart and cold soup. Really it is excellent stuff. It can make you drunk so very quickly. Do have some.” Again he pushed the bottle towards her, but when she declined, he took a long draw himself.

Disliking the prospect of a drunken abductor, she took the bottle and lowered the window to throw it out.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, suspicious. “It is a trick. You mean to leave clues for Clivesdale. But he’ll never see it in the dark, and by tomorrow morning it will be too late. We shall have spent the night together.”

“I am not spending this or any other night with you.”

“Pray relieve your mind of rape, my love. I regret having used the word, for I see you are squeamish. It is the malign English influence on your free spirit. I have booked two rooms for us, and mean to hire a woman at the inn to set up a truckle cot in your room, to satisfy Clyesmore and the proprieties. You are perfectly safe with me. All your troubles are over now. Relax, my beloved.”

It was more illness and defeat than relaxation that sunk her to a few moments’ silence. When Romeo began to regale her with tales of the beauty awaiting her eyes at home in Greece, she let him ramble on, and put her own wits to better use. She must make him stop long before Chertsey, preferably within ten minutes, to insure some hope of getting back to Cavendish Square before her ball was too far advanced.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Larry, what is to be done? I can’t find hide nor hair of Barbara!” was Lady Withers’ distracted greeting to her brother when he arrived at Cavendish Square for the ball. So great was her distress that she uttered these horrified words even before she got him into a private study, thus revealing the shabby truth to her butler. “Not here to greet the guests, and who is to open the ball?”

“Flown the coop, has she?” he asked, undismayed. “Did she leave me a note?”

“Of course not. That is—I haven’t found one, and if she wrote to anyone, it would be myself. I am having her room searched this minute, and Harper questioned, though the woman says she hasn’t seen her since dinner, but she might have heard something. Ellingwood says she was feeling ill at dinner, and went into the little study to rest a minute. She did look pulled, but she had been complaining of a headache, and naturally everyone has a headache at her own ball. My own head is splitting this minute. The study door was ajar, and I thought she might have wandered into the garden for a breath of air, but there are no signs of disturbance at all.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“A quarter or half an hour—I can’t say for sure. I personally have not laid an eye on her since dinner.”

“We must tell Ellingwood she is gone,” he said, turning to the door that moment to seek him out.

“Tell him? Are you mad? He is the very one must not learn she has bolted. She must be found and brought back.”

“I disagree. It would be infamous to let that poor boy become engaged to a wild filly like Babe. I shall tell him this minute.”

“You are insane. It may have a perfectly innocent explanation, and to lose him only over a trifle . . . I wonder if she would have darted over to Fannie’s place for any reason. Hop into your carriage at once and check it out, Larry. I’ll stave off Ellingwood and the others. Say she is feeling ill—it will not be surprising, as she was looking peakey at dinner.”

“I’ll go and have a look,” he agreed, not nearly so upset as his sister felt he should be. As he went into the hallway, Ellingwood accosted him.

“I hope Barbara is all right?” he asked, worried.

“Having a little lie-down,” Lady Withers assured him, with an uneasy smile that would not fool a child. “We expect she will be feeling better soon, and have sent for the doctor . . .” She realized suddenly that Ellingwood was not looking at her. His eyes had gone past her shoulder to Clivedon, who stood behind her, shaking his head to refute her careful story.

“Larry!” she squealed, her tact deserting her.

“It is too late for lies and patching up,” Clivedon said bluntly. “Babe has tipped us the double, Ellingwood. Run away. Typical, of course. She’s been too tame of late. I knew she was planning something.”

Lady Withers plunged into her evening bag for her vinaigrette, for she would not faint. “Larry’s little joke, you must know,” she said weakly, and, easing herself behind her brother, she delivered a sharp poke in his back.

“We'd better go after her, Ellingwood, and see if we can get her back,” Clivedon continued unchecked. “You still want to marry her, I hope. Sorry I was out this morning when you called. Permission granted, of course.”

Ellingwood was looking very uncomfortable indeed. “I have no desire to force her, if it is my suit that has set her off,” he said. “Is—is that why you wouldn’t see me today?”

“No, the fact is, young Lord Romeo has painted up that picture of her coming out of the pond naked, and I had the devil’s own time convincing him not to display it at Burlington House. Couldn’t talk him out of it,” he said, shaking his head. “But you must have a go at him. I think a duel is your best hope. He’s gun-shy.”

“Larry, you didn’t tell me that!” his sister gasped. “Oh, dear . . . But she has not run off at all, Charles. She wandered into the garden . . .”

Ellingwood’s head turned from one to the other, his face a perfect mask of horror.

“Agnes, my dear, you disturb yourself for nothing,” Clivedon told her. “Charles is not likely to go blurting out the truth to others. If he means to have her, it is time he become initiated into the rites of covering up Babe’s scrapes. The chore will fall to him now, thank God. This is the last time you and I will have to scramble over the city trying to find her, and exert our wits to make up some story to whitewash her.”

“Larry!” Agnes squealed again, in fainter accents, as she saw she was beaten.

“Really, I hardly know what to say,” Ellingwood said, looking dazed. “Not much good at this sort of thing—dueling. I had no idea . . . thought she was all over that . . . Lady Anstrom would not like. . .”

“We shan’t tell your aunts, of course,” Clivedon agreed. “Good God, if they ever learn half the truth, you may whistle their fortunes down the wind. You’ll have to learn to hide Babe’s carryings-on from them. You don’t suppose it’s Gentz she’s run to again, Agnes?” he asked, turning aside from Ellingwood, who stood trembling at the closeness of his escape.

“Of course not! Romeo is more like it.”

A servant approached, bearing in her fingers several pieces of paper. “I went through her correspondence as you suggested, milady,” she said, handing the letters to Lady Withers, who snatched at them eagerly.

“Might as well give me these bills,” Clivedon said, helping himself to a few sheets. “God knows how she shall pay them. Badly dipped.”

“Oh my God, there’s one from Gentz,” Lady Withers moaned, all discretion tossed to the winds. “Look here, he addresses her as his dear Bride.”

“Any from Romeo?” Clivedon asked, carefully putting his thumb over the date of Gentz’s letter as he took it from his sister.

“One from Fannie and some invitations. Ah yes, here is one from Romeo, making an assignation to meet her in the garden.”

“Maybe I should just return to Lady Anstrom,” Ellingwood said, backing from the room hastily.

“That might be best,” Clivedon told him. “We don’t want her to become suspicious. Shall I go ahead and announce the engagement, by the by? It would help distract attention from her absence. Or would it do just the opposite? We’ll say she is not feeling well, and try to get her back before the ball’s over . . .”

“No!” Ellingwood pleaded. “No—I—I think not, Lord Clivedon. I’ll just run along—do as you say and try to cover for her, but I don’t think—I mean it was never actually settled . . .”

“Can’t take the pace?” Clivedon asked archly. He received no verbal reply, but the white, frightened face staring back at him was answer enough. “There’s another one got away,” Clivedon said to Agnes with no attempt at secrecy. “It seems the chore of finding her is to be mine alone. Gentz, do you think, Agnes, or Romeo this time?”

“I have no idea,” she said. “Whom shall I get to open the ball?”

No one seemed to have any ideas on that point either, but she went with Ellingwood to put on a brave face and make excuses for the absence of the guest of honor.

Clivedon wasted not a moment in going to Fannie’s house, nor in worrying about Gentz. He went instead to Stapford’s London residence, to confirm that Lord Romeo had gone to visit his father. This he ascertained by asking the butler in a fairly disinterested way whether his lordship had left for Hampshire yet, and received assurance that he had left that same evening.