Babe (8 page)

His expression was hard to read, several yards away, but she could sense the tenseness of his posture. She raised a gloved hand and waved to him. He nodded his head almost imperceptibly, then turned away. She saw he was with his sister and her husband and another lady, not Angela. Someone asked at the last minute to replace herself, then. She had been expecting an immediate and violent reaction from him. She thought he would jump up at once and come to her, make a clamor, and drag her home.

He sat immobile, gazing at the stage as the curtains drew open, with every appearance of interest in the play, while his blood thudded angrily in his ears and he considered what he should do. Whatever he did would be done in private, for making her once again the center of attention was not his wish. She had already been seen with Gentz, so the best course was to seem to be aware of her coming. No one would believe it, sitting with that motley crew of foreign nobodies. Agnes leaned over and poked his ribs. “Larry, what are you going to do?” she whispered.

“I am going to enjoy the play, and suggest you do the same,” he told her, in a damping tone.

All through the first act, Barbara kept darting peeps towards her guardian’s box, wondering if he had not seen her, and knowing full well he had. She was first deflated, then curious, and finally uneasy in the extreme. The first intermission seemed a very long wait, but at last it came, and she tensed herself for his visit, certain he would come to her. He left his box. When Gentz arose to do likewise, she told him she would stay behind, and was unhappy when he elected to stay with her. She waited, but when the door opened, it was only Lady Withers and her husband who came in and took up the seats vacated by the Russian and his friend. They were coolly polite, so distant that one wondered they should have bothered coming at all. They remained till the intermission was over, saying nothing about Clivedon, nor did Barbara.

When Agnes returned to her own box, she said to her brother, “I have done as you suggested and tried to lend her an air of respectability, but pray don’t ask me to repeat the performance at the next break, for I couldn’t think of a single word to say.”

At the recommencement of the play, Barbara again risked a glance at Clivedon. He did not so much as turn his head towards her. What was going on? She could not believe he was going to ignore her move. Her nerves stretched taut as she fidgeted in her seat, having a perfectly miserable evening. She was grateful it was not a comedy being performed, for to have to try to laugh at such a time would have been impossible. The frown she wore was in keeping with the general mood in the theater, but its cause was unique to herself.

At the second intermission, she could remain cooped up no longer. She took Gentz’s arm to go into the lobby for a walk, and saw Clivedon standing with a large group of the very tip of society, chatting unconcernedly. Lady Angela, she noticed, was of the party. And still no attention was paid to herself. The uncertainty mounted, till she could stand it no longer. She started walking towards the group, Gentz clearly unwilling and trying to hold back, so that she was required to take his arm most forcefully, while her own insides were quaking. As she got up to the large party, she looked to the left, as though she had just that moment spotted Clivedon.

“Good evening, Lady Barbara,” he said over his shoulder, in a polite tone. “Enjoying the play?”

“Very much, thank you,” she answered with a challenging smile. “No doubt you are surprised to see me here.”

“Not at all,”’ he answered, and turned his head away.

“I made sure you would be surprised, as you ordered me to stay at home!” she said in a loud, sharp tone. There was an uncomfortable silence over the group, as the well-bred collectively wondered how they should pretend not to have understood her.

“Come along, Babe,” Gentz said, urging her past.

“No! I want to hear what my guardian has to say,” she answered, with a bold, questioning look at him.

“Your guardian will deal with you later,” was all he said, still in a pleasant tone, though there was an edge creeping on to it. The black eye he turned on Gentz was less pleasant still.

“You see, you have been frightened for nothing, Theo,” she said, with a mocking smile at her alleged protector.

“I was not frightened!” Gentz felt compelled to announce.

“Lady Barbara’s guardian will deal with you later as well, Colonel,” the guardian said, in a low tone that sounded absolutely menacing.

Even the well-bred gave up any pretense of doing anything but listening and staring, their faces full of greedy curiosity.

Barbara began to perceive she had misread the seeming indifference that had greeted her earlier. She was struck with a sudden fear that even a duel was possible, for she had never seen Clivedon so quietly furious. His anger in the park was nothing to this. He looked exactly like the tigers at the Exchange, ready to pounce. “Clivedon!” she said in alarm, “it was not Theo’s fault. It was my idea to come.”

“Later!” he said, in a voice so charged with fury that it had an electrical quality to it.

“Indeed it is not his fault!” she repeated, more loudly, and more frightened.

“There is no fault in it,” Theo said hastily.

Angela fixed her face into a proper pose and spoke up. “When a lady disobeys her guardian, most people would consider it a grave fault,” she informed Colonel Gentz. Looking to Clivedon for approval of her championship, she was stunned to see the way he looked at her. “Well, certainly she should do as you say, unless . . .” But she could find in neither heart nor head any excuse for Babe.

“Lord Clivedon recognizes that I have some influence with the lady as well,” Gentz said, and knew he had erred, though he was in fact trying to smooth the matter over. “That is . . . as . . .” There was a dreadful hush, while he stumbled to a halt.

“Oh, do be quiet, Theo,” Barbara said, then laughed nervously.

“You were saying?” Clivedon asked him.

“As Babe’s fiancé my wishes are to be considered as well,” Theo answered back.

“Fiancé! I knew it!” Angela declared.

“A joke,” Clivedon told her, but neither his face nor tone was at all facetious. “You have not forgotten Lady Withers’ party after the play, Lady Barbara? I shall take you,” he added.

Never was anyone so happy to hear the box boys announce the return to the play as Lord Clivedon was that night, unless lit should be Barbara.

She turned and walked away, her knees like jelly. “Theo, what possessed you to say such a thing!”

“I know when I see murder in a man’s eyes. He plans to kill me. He can hardly call out his own charge’s fiancé. We are engaged, milady, at least until I get safely out of London. I’m off to Burrells’ tonight.”

“You can’t abandon me! Oh, Theo, he will kill me instead! I know he will. I'm sorry I ever came.”

“I wanted to go to the Pantheon instead. You are the one insisted we come here. I’ll be lucky to get home in one piece. Don’t tell him you don’t plan to marry me till I am out of here.”

“The thing to do is to leave at once and go to Burrells’, both of us.”

“Suit yourself. I wouldn’t mind leaving now, but I'll take you
home
. You are very lovely,
ma mie
, but you are not worth my life.”

They had reached their box, but instead of entering, they went around the corner towards the stairs, to see Clivedon standing at the top with his arms folded, and a look on his face that invited trouble.

“Leaving, Colonel Gentz?” he asked. “What an excellent idea. I would do the same if I were in your boots, and I wouldn’t stop running till I got out of town. Won’t you join my party, Lady Barbara? There are six seats, and only four of us attended, so you won’t have the pleasure of sitting on anyone’s knee or the edge of the balcony railing, but with luck you will find some other means of making a show of yourself.”

Gentz nipped off down the stairs, while Clivedon took Lady Barbara’s elbow in a grip that left two bruises, as he led her to his box. “Can you behave yourself for thirty minutes, or is that beyond you?” he asked in a voice of mock solicitude.

“Clivedon . . .”

“Does Lady Graham know you are gone?”

“No, I sneaked out.”

“Go into my box. I’ll join you as soon as I have sent her a message. And you had better be there when I return.”

As he wrote his note outside the door and dispatched it with a page, she hadn’t much choice in the matter.

Chapter Eight

The continuing of the play, and perhaps Lady Withers’ tact, which found her cousin a seat between herself and the wall, prevented any embarrassing questions till the play was finished. Before leaving, Clivedon found a moment’s privacy to speak to his sister.

“I’ll take the hoyden home in my carriage. She’s apt to hit you and Joe on the head and nip off on you. Take Miss Millington with you, will you? I want to find out what Babe’s been up to exactly, and rehearse her for your party. I don’t have to tell you what to say.”

It was not till they all left that Lady Barbara received a few congratulations from passers-by in the lobby. How had the story spread so quickly? But then, Babe’s doings were always one of the major subjects of gossip.

As she walked quickly to the door, with Clivedon’s arm firmly holding her arm, Lady Angela called to her. “Congratulations, Lady Barbara, on your engagement. Now I expect you will go to Austria with your cousin and her new groom. Is it to be a double wedding?”

Barbara was reduced to near incoherence. All through the last act she had been asking herself why she had done it, why she had come to this play, why she had sought Gentz’s escort, why he had proclaimed himself her fiancé, and most ominously of all, what would Clivedon do? That his retribution would be severe she knew very well. He sat like a stone Jehovah throughout the play, not looking at her, but with anger oozing from his silent form, settling about her like a fog, almost palpable in its intensity. Blinking at Angela, she answered, “No. Oh no.”

“That was a joke, of course,” Clivedon answered for her, very firmly.

“A joke? Why, it is the on-dit of the evening. I have heard it discussed a dozen times since leaving my box,” Angela answered. Then she walked along by Clivedon, saying in a low voice, “What a scandal! It would be best to give a show of indifference. I warned you how it would be. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“If you can think of anything to quell the scandal, you are more ingenious than I,” he replied, hastening his steps, till Angela fell back to rejoin her own party.

His carriage was waiting. He saw his charge in and took a seat opposite, while she sat holding on to the edge of the banquette, waiting for his attack. He was too upset to oblige her. “We’ll speak later. You are to behave at the party as though nothing has happened. Don’t apologize to anyone. Lady Graham knew you were going, gave her permission. We must hope folks are simple-minded enough to believe that. If this engagement is mentioned, you laugh. It is a joke. You understand?”

“Yes.”

For half a block they went on in silence. “Clivedon?” she said in a hesitant voice.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you say something.”

“We’ll talk later.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want to get it over with now. Shout at me.”

“I don’t want you to arrive with red eyes.”

“I’m sorry I did it,” she offered.

“A little late for regrets.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I am going to discuss it later. Be quiet.”

She sank into silence. She had done much worse than this in her life, and never felt the least compunction. But then others had not treated her stunts so seriously, made them a matter of disgrace.

If the play had been bad, and it had been perfectly horrid, the party was infinitely worse. There were the curious eyes prying, not the laughing eyes of Fannie’s friends, but the censorious gaze of people from a different milieu. There were the sly questions, and there was Lady Withers, trying to smooth the waters and keep guests at bay, while keeping up some appearance of mingling. All her reserves of tact were called upon. Worst of all, there was Clivedon being so polite and solicitous, with always that menacing light in his eyes, that glare that ordered her to smile and talk, while her head reeled with what was yet to come.

It seemed to go on for hours. There was turtle soup, the first of the season, always looked forward to with pleasure, but giving less pleasure than soft pudding tonight. Her head was throbbing long before it was over. The only relief was that Lady Angela was not there. It was odd she was not, as Lady Withers had mentioned she was invited. What had kept her away? When she mentioned it to Clivedon, he answered in his most cutting voice, “She is a little particular in whom she associates with. Need I say more?”

This was more than enough to pull Barbara out of her dumps. Don’t apologize, he had said, and she had seen its inefficacy already in trying once to apologize to him. She hadn’t done anything that awful that she would cringe and beg for mercy. No, and she would never have done anything at all if he had not treated her so abominably. Her spirits were higher than they had been all evening when finally she confronted Clivedon across the saloon, empty now but for themselves.

“Congratulations on a fine evening’s performance,” he began, on a sardonic note.

“Thank you, sir. It is but the first of many performances that will ensue between us if you insist on treating me as you have done.”

“I tend to treat people pretty well as they deserve. I have not seen such a childish display of bad manners as you put on this evening for some time. If you had followed my lead at the theater and let on I knew you were coming, nothing would have been thought of it but that I was a little lax in what company I allowed you to keep. It was your flaunting in everyone’s face that you were disobeying my orders, and that announcement from Gentz! Was that your idea?”

“No. I was surprised at his saying it. I rather think it was your friend’s interference that gave rise to it. Odd she should have been so busy, as she is known to be very particular whom she deals with.”