by Joan Smith
Romeo reached the pond's edge before them and stood with his arms out to assist Lady Barbara onto dry land. Several others as well were on hand to render what help they could, but there was no real danger in it. There was more laughter and teasing than help. Barbara arose, dripping from head to toe, her pretty gown ruined, the thin muslin clinging to her body, while her hair trailed over her shoulders like seaweed. Romeo forgot all notion of helping her, and stood transfixed, staring. “Amphitrite!” he exclaimed, in awed accents. “Why did I not see it sooner? I must draw you thus!”
A Mr. Baxter, less artistic but more practical, removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders, while Mrs. Swanson darted forward to rush the girl into the sanctuary of the house. Ellingwood followed quickly at their footsteps, with Romeo bringing up the rear, while the rest of the party discussed the accident.
As Barbara was got out of her soaking clothing and into a gown belonging to Miss Swanson, Romeo discovered a paper and pencil, and dashed off a rough sketch of the vision he had beheld rising from the waves. No friend to clothing on ladies, he dispensed with these objects and drew her with her hair trailing over the front of her body. He considered which of the usual poses of Amphitrite to use. He had seen her on coins riding on a seahorse or dolphin, but this interfered with the vivid memory of her emerging from the pond, and they were rejected. He drew her as he had seen her, only omitting the gown.
In a quarter of an hour she was back downstairs, dressed but with her hair still wet. “You can’t go back to the party like that,” Romeo told her. “Come and sit here by the window. Leave your hair loose—it will dry more quickly—and I shall finish this sketch. The face I have not done at all. I am doing you as Amphitrite.”
She sat considering her predicament. This accident was bound to be much discussed, and she wondered whether Clivedon and Lady Withers would be angry with her. But an accident, after all—it could not well have been avoided. Unless she had refused to go on the raft. Yes, they would not be pleased that she had consented to go on the raft. But as she remembered Clivedon’s easy acceptance of their discovery in a much worse pickle than this at the inn, she recovered her spirits and allowed Romeo to pull her hair over her shoulders and pose her at the window.
Mrs. Swanson came to look in on them. “I’m afraid you’ll catch cold with your damp hair, Lady Barbara. Let me get you a blanket to put over your gown till it dries.”
“I am a little chilly,” she allowed.
The blanket was put around her shoulders, hanging to the floor, making her feel more comfortable. Again Romeo had to rearrange the hair. The hostess had a little inkling that the girl’s new guardian might not like her to be alone with Romeo, for they were very careful of her lately. To prevent giving any offense in that direction, she asked a few of the youngsters to join the party in the small saloon. Half a dozen bucks and ladies lounged behind Romeo, snickering and laughing amongst themselves and pestering Romeo with questions, which he mostly ignored, only mentioning what goddess he was painting— “One of the Nereids.”
Barbara rather wondered what had become of Ellingwood, but that unfortunate gentleman had nothing to change into. There was no son in the Swanson household, and he had the choice of donning a footman’s livery or waiting for a servant to fetch him dry clothing from home. He chose the latter as more in keeping with his dignity, and passed a very boring hour locked in a room, rehearsing his excuses to Lord Clivedon.
He had a chance to deliver them sooner than he thought. The instant he had got his cravate tied and gone below, he saw the tall form of Clivedon approaching the water, looking around, for himself he knew. As he walked quickly forward, he heard a saucy young lady shout, “Are you looking for Babe, Lord Clivedon? Don’t worry, she is not drowned. She fell into the water, of course—what would one expect of Babe? —but she has been rescued. You will find her in the house.”
“Just a little accident,” Ellingwood said, hurrying forward.
“She’s not hurt?” Clivedon asked.
“Not in the least.”
“What happened?”
“It was that blasted Lord Romeo put her up to it. What must the pair of them do but get on an old falling-apart raft and go out on the water, and when I tried to get her into a safer boat, we fell in.”
Clivedon’s face was already wearing an angry expression. “Where is she? I’ll take her home.”
“I’ve just this minute got into dry clothes myself. I haven’t spotted her yet—well, the girl said she’s in the house, didn’t she? We’ll find her there.”
“Managed to dunk you as well, did she?”
“It wasn’t her fault.”
They walked together at a brisk pace towards the house to seek out Lady Barbara. Laughter and talking soon directed them to the proper location. Clivedon felt reassured to know she was not alone with Romeo, for to have seen no sign of him sent a shot of alarm through him. He entered the door, not quite smiling but not actually angry. The first thing he saw was Barbara posing in the blanket; the second was Romeo’s sketch, and simultaneously he became aware of the audience. Romeo had made good progress with the sketch. The body was all finished, in vivid detail, and he concentrated on the hair and face. Over his shoulder, the little group laughed in the manner of the righteous when titillated.
Clivedon took four long strides forward and yanked the picture from Romeo’s hands to rip it in two, then in two again, and cast the pieces aside, while Ellingwood’s heart sank in his breast. “The show is over, ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the group. There was something in his demeanor that did not encourage them to linger. They were out the door in seconds, still whispering and giggling amongst themselves. The words “Babe” and “naturally” were heard, punctuating the laughter.
“Clivedon—what on earth is the matter?” Barbara asked, coming forward. She had expected a small scold, nothing in the nature of this towering rage. He was seething, his eyes burning mad, and the area around his mouth seemed to have turned white.
“Matter? Nothing, in your view, I am sure. You must be mighty pleased with your day’s work, to have made yourself the center of so much ill-bred attention. Have you got anything on under that blanket?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
Romeo had begun picking up the pieces of his work and reassembling them. “That was a wanton piece of destruction on your part, Lord Clydesmore,” he said in a carefully restrained voice. Then he added, in less-restrained accents, “Philistine!” Barbara shot a quick look at the torn picture, but saw only the head and hair streaming over her shoulder.
“It was an accident,” she said, frowning at Clivedon.
“The sort of accident in which you excel. A well-planned accident, I make no doubt.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she answered.
“Absurd? You have the bare-faced gall to . . .” He was beyond speech.
“There is nothing wrong in a young lady showing her body. You are very old-fashioned, milord,” Romeo said, his voice gently reproving.
“My notions of what is proper do not extend so far back into history as your own. It will come as news to you we are not living in ancient Greece, but in modern England.”
With a trembling hand and some incipient idea of what had happened, Barbara lifted another piece of the torn paper from Romeo’s fingers and stared at what he had drawn. “Oh,” she said weakly, as it was confirmed in her mind that Clivedon thought she had posed in this manner.
“Happy with the likeness?” her guardian asked ironically.
“Not quite so good as the original, I think,” she shot back. “Would you like to compare, Lord Philistine?” She put her hands on the corners of the blanket, and began to open it.
“Babe!” He made a lunge at her that nearly knocked her off her feet, while Ellingwood looked on, mesmerized.
She danced back and pulled off the blanket. “You dare to suggest I posed for that thing!” she said to Clivedon. “You have the damnable insolence to acc
use me of that.”
“I would not have suggested it,” Romeo said. “It was merely the sodden gown, clinging to Barbara’s bosoms, that inspired me. . .”
She paid no attention to the artist; her ire was all directed against her guardian. “If I were a man, I’d call you out,” she told him, her nostrils pinched.
“I will be happy to defend your honor, my dear,” Romeo told her, while Ellingwood stood with his mouth clamped shut, wondering whether his presence was actually required here.
“If you weren’t a damned half-witted puppy I’d put a bullet through you,” Clivedon replied.
“It would do you no good to try to involve me in a shooting duel,” Romeo returned. “I do not agree with guns. I would be happy to wrestle you.”
“Go to hell. Put on that blanket. We’re leaving,” Clivedon said to Barbara, then turned back to Romeo. “I don’t want to see you wagging your tail at Cavendish Square again.”
“You are not going to steal Barbara from me. I know you are jealous of me. I have seen it in your eyes before now, but she is mine. Trying to keep me from her will not kill our affection but encourage it.” His voice was unimpassioned. Merely he was explaining the matter.
“Don’t come pestering us in future. You understand? You are no longer welcome. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll destroy that piece of pornography.”
“You are quite mistaken in your interpretation of the piece. The female nude as executed by me is intended to stimulate aesthetic emotions, not erotic. That is an Indian fashion, which I find peculiarly repulsive. The human body is the most. . .”
While he spoke on, Clivedon put a hand on Barbara’s elbow and pulled her from the room. “I’d like to know what you were about while all this was going on,” he said over his shoulder to Ellingwood on the way out.
“It was all Ellingwood’s fault, if you want to know the truth,” Barbara took it up at once. “If he hadn’t come lurching up against us, grabbing onto the pole, and tipped us over, this would never have happened.”
“If you had any sense of decent behavior it wouldn’t have happened. You don’t see Miss Swanson or any of the other girls getting themselves dumped into the pond. Only you could create a scandal at a polite water party. We can’t let you out of our sight for ten minutes. You’re worse than a baby.”
His carriage was brought around while they continued arguing. A brief truce was called while they made their adieux to the hostess, but the battle was resumed as soon as they were on the road.
“It’s a good thing I happened to have brought my closed carriage, or you’d be riding through town like Lady Godiva, with your hair hanging over your shoulders.”
“You know perfectly well this little accident was not my fault. If Romeo took advantage of me by drawing that picture without my knowledge, it is nothing to do with me. As to that bunch of jackals looking on for an hour and not telling me what he was doing! They would not have behaved so if it were anyone but me.”
“That is exactly right! I’m glad you come to realize that people do not consider you to deserve the respect a lady ought. You have made yourself an object of scorn often enough that they feel free to treat you as though you were a lightskirt.”
“The very way you treat me, in fact. It didn’t occur to you that Romeo might have done that picture without my knowledge. You assumed instead that I had taken off my clothes in front of a whole bunch of people and posed for him.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
She turned her head aside and refused to speak for several minutes, while they both cooled down. At length he said, “Well, here we are with another scandal to be lived down, and your ball fast approaching. We’ll be lucky if there are half a dozen people at it.”
“Advertise I am to attend au naturel. That would draw a good crowd, don’t you think?”
“It would draw the Greek, in any case. Thank God Agnes hasn’t sent out the cards yet. That’s one she can tear up.”
“You were very hard on Romeo. You hurt his feelings.”
“He has no feelings. He’s a walking wad of outdated clichés. I haven’t heard so much misquoted Greek since before I went to Oxford. How you cannot be bored by that egregious ass is beyond me. No idea of proper conduct—you couldn’t possibly marry him. I realize now it is completely out of the question.”
He looked at her, trying to read if she were distressed at this news, but she was wearing a face that might have been set in cement. “We can hardly avoid seeing him if we continue going out nights,” he went on. “He goes everywhere, never mind whether he is invited. You’ll be going out very little till our ball. We’ll say you have caught a cold after your dunking.”
“That will leave you free to attend the Cyprians’ Ball tonight,” she said, with a knowing look. “I expect that is what not wanting Romeo dangling after me is all about. It happens, however, that he plans to attend it himself, so your concern need not begin till tomorrow.”
“My concern began an hour ago. You will not leave the house tonight. And Romeo should not have been discussing such an affair with you.”
“You will attend this infamous affair too low to speak of before such innocents as myself?”
“I usually drop in. It is one of the more interesting social do’s of the Season.”
“What divertissement am I to be regaled with while you attend the more interesting amusement?”
“I suggest bed, and a book.”
“Kind of you. Do you know, I have always had a great curiosity to know what goes on at the Cyprians’ Ball?”
“I don’t want to see your white head at it.”
“If I decide to go, I will be sure to wear a wig. What color would you like to see?”
“I’m not fooling, Babe. I forbid you to leave the house without my permission.”
She looked at him closely. His anger seemed to have dissipated. Yes, he was enjoying issuing his decrees. There seemed almost to be a challenge in the prohibition. “What will you do if I choose to disobey?”
A sardonic smile flashed out. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll never find out. I don’t recommend you get into any alternative mischief either.”
“I haven’t bothered with mere mischief since I let down my skirts and pinned up my hair.”
“One trembles to think some unfortunate man will have the task of steering you through life’s shoals.”
“I am not a ship, to be steered into a safe harbor. I am the captain of this vessel.”
Chapter Fifteen
Clivedon delivered his charge to Cavendish Square, sent her to her room, and explained to his sister what had happened. She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Shabby! What a sight she must have looked, dripping with brown pond water. And the sprigged muslin ruined of course. One would think Mrs. Swanson would have taken a look-in on the sketching party to see. . . But she never was quite the thing. I’m sorry I let Barbara go.”
“We’ll keep her in a few days to let the talk die down.”
“We were to go to Stauntons’ ball tonight. A great extravagant do. I particularly wanted to see how she had the place decorated, to be sure to do something different for Barbara’s party. I shall be sorry to miss it. I’ve offered Mrs. Waring a lift too.”
“You won’t miss it. Why should you? Go, by all means. You are not to be punished because that heller can’t be trusted for two hours.”
“She has behaved fairly well till today. With her ball to look forward to, I can’t believe she’ll do anything foolish. She’ll be safe. Still, I can’t help remembering her sneaking off on Lady Graham, and traipsing into the play on Gentz’s arm.”
“We’ve seen the last of the colonel. Ellingwood certainly will not oblige her by taking her.”
“Which leaves Romeo.”
“I put a pretty good scare into him.”
“He is a very odd fellow, certainly, but he occupies a rather special place in Society, Larry. He can get away with things others could no
t. His artistic genius, his having been reared abroad, and of course his fortune and his noble family . . . I’m not at all sure he should be turned off only for this. I shall speak to him, explain the situation.”
“I’ve already explained the situation to Romeo,” her brother said, “and I wish you will explain to your servants he is not to be allowed here.”
Lady Withers was not quite so severe as her brother in this respect. She dropped the hint to her housekeeper that if Lord Romeo happened to come when she was out, she would appreciate the good woman’s bearing the two of them company, and perhaps would just tell her when she returned what exactly had transpired.
While this was going forth belowstairs, Babe was racking her brains above to figure a way to attend the Cyprians’ Ball. She hardly even wanted to go, yet to be forbidden to leave the house was a challenge she could not ignore. She must go unrecognized, of course. A young lady’s attending such an affair would be scandalous, and she did not mean to be a cause of scandal again. She would conform to the outward show of Clivedon’s polite circle of friends, but she fully intended throwing in his face what she had done, after it was all over and she had escaped unnoticed.
It was the matter of a disguise that occupied her once the positive decision to attend had been taken. She came to think a man’s outfit was the best choice, but Lady Withers’ husband was very tall, and his were the only gentleman’s clothing in the house. Lady Withers and her husband were attending dinner before the ball, so Barbara had a tray in her room. Her hostess came to take a leave of her and see if she could read by her expression what was in her mind. She could read exactly nothing, and went to Staunton’s with a little sense of uneasiness that dissipated as soon as she got there.