She began preparing early, taking a long warm bath, and then carefully selecting what she would wear. All the while her personal maid, Jeffries, bustled about assisting. Della had chosen a rose gown and decided to wear pearls given to her by her late mother. Jeffries fussed over her hair, parting it in the middle and fixing in it ornate coils at the nape of her neck.
At last the elderly maid said, “I declare, miss, you look perfect!”
She smiled at herself in the mirror and was satisfied. “At least I look as well as I can,” she said.
“And that is better than most girls your age,” Jeffries defended her loyally.
Della gave her a teasing glance, saying, “I want to be at my best tonight. The Honorable Davy Miller is my escort!”
“Him!” Jeffries said, impressed. “According to the newspapers, he can have the choice of any girl he likes!”
She laughed. “Well, tonight I’m his choice.”
Jeffries was all agog. “Let me give your hair a final touch, miss,” she worried. “I do want you to be a beauty!”
Davy, handsome in white tie and tails, arrived for her sharply at seven-thirty. He was a large young man with a tanned face and golden hair. He had made his name as a cricket star and was constantly moving about the country playing the game.
“Dashed lovely!” was his comment as she came down the stairs and linked a white-gloved hand through his arm.
As Davy’s carriage arrived at the Grey’s, the street was filled with smart conveyances with elegantly dressed couples descending from them and entering the brightly lit entrance of the big house. On the opposite side of the street, and held in check by two sturdy bobbies, were a motley lot of common folk come to admire and be awed by this display of grandeur and wealth.
“Bloody disgrace!” someone shouted from the crowd as Davy and Della stepped from their carriage to join the party. “Waste of money!”
“Feed the poor!” a woman shrilled and started a clamor.
Then an indignant male voice cried, “Shut your ugly face! That’s Davy Miller, the cricket star, and he’s entitled to a night out with a lady toff!” This brought laughter and good humor back to the crowd.
Inside, the orchestra was playing and once through the reception line Della and Davy mingled with the other of their set. Davy fetched them some champagne from the bar and then they danced a polka.
The great ballroom was brilliantly lighted with several hanging glass chandeliers. The shining oak floor was nearly always crowded with dancers. Della knew almost everyone at the grand affair. The orchestra played waltzes, lancers and the quadrille. She danced with Davy most of the time.
During the waltz he said, “Your mind seems far away tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized with a smile. “I had a busy day. I’m soon leaving for Rome.”
He showed surprise. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“The plan came about suddenly,” she said as they moved gracefully about the floor.
“If it weren’t the middle of the cricket season I’d follow you,” the big man said.
“You mustn’t neglect your game!”
“Can’t,” he said. “Just the same, don’t let any of those Italian counts talk you into anything.”
“That’s not likely!”
He swung her around. “Everyone is watching us. We’re the best-looking couple on the floor.”
“You only think that!” she protested.
“It’s true,” he said. “I wish you’d change your mind about Italy.”
“Can’t,” she said. “Family business.” But she made no attempt to explain it to him. Sir Roger had advised her not to make mention of her long-lost sister until she was sure all was well.
A break came in the dancing and Davy left her to get some wine from the bar. She stood alone by one of the open windows that looked out on the gardens. The ballroom had become almost unbearably warm and she was thirsty. She had an idea Davy would be some time getting her a drink as there was a long line at the bar before he started for it.
“Della!” Her name was spoken urgently.
She turned to see Henry Clarkson standing beside her. She said, “What do you want?”
“To tell you I had nothing to do with Sir Roger’s plan this afternoon.”
“You made that perfectly clear.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry you were embarrassed. I really did feel badly for you.”
“That’s very kind,” she said with a hint of coldness.
He stood there ill at ease and finally said, “He still thinks I’m the one to go with you.”
“I’m going to have to change his mind,” Della said.
“I hope you can if that’s what you want,” Henry responded with a sincere look on his handsome face. “For myself, I’d be ready to go with you if that was your wish.”
“You’d willingly make the sacrifice?” she asked with mild sarcasm.
“It would be no sacrifice on my part,” he said. “Despite what you think, I still care for you, Della. I still love you.”
She raised a hand to silence him. “This is neither the time nor place. And anyway, it’s all a little late.”
“Not too late unless you make it so,” he told her.
“Please,” she said. “Do leave me alone. Davy will be back in a moment.”
“I saw you with him on the floor,” Henry said. “You made a perfect team.”
“Thank you,” she said impatiently.
“It’s my absence you wish, not my compliments,” he said with a bitter smile. “I’m sorry, Della. I can’t change the way I feel about you.” And he turned and vanished into the crowd.
She watched him go with a sense of loss and dismay. Why did she always react as she had? Why not at least be pleasant to him? Perhaps it was because she’d cared so much and had been so deeply hurt. And why would he not be discouraged and turn away from her for good? Was it possible that he still loved her as deeply as he pretended?
These questions tortured her until Davy returned with their glasses of wine and even afterward. In fact, on the drive home from the party the big blond man complained that she had not been her usual vivacious self that evening.
“You lost your zest as the evening went on,” he said as they sat in the dark seat of the carriage, his arm around her.
She smiled up at him. “I’m sorry. I told you I was tired and worried.”
“You showed it,” he said. “I think you should forget all about that trip to Italy.”
“I wish I could.”
He brought her close to him and kissed her for a long, ardent moment. Then he said, “Follow me around the cricket circuit. See England first and we’ll have a party every night!”
“And ruin your form?” she laughed.
He joined in her laughter. “Better mine than yours,” he said. And they sat close and content as the carriage rolled over the rough cobblestoned street.
Davy saw her inside and kissed her goodnight again. She left him in a pleasant, relaxed state and made her way up the stairway. The wine and the enjoyable evening had left her in a mood of easy languor.
Everyone in the mansion seemed to be asleep except herself. She had told Jeffries not to wait up for her because she felt the old woman was not up to it. But her bed had been turned down and everything laid out for her. Cold water had been run in her bath and there were jugs of hot water waiting for her to pour into the partly filled tub.
She undressed slowly and hung her gown up with care. When she had removed the last of her clothing she stood before the great oval mirror on one of the closet doors and admired her lithe body. She constantly checked to see that she was not putting on weight. As she studied herself she quickly took the pins from her auburn hair and let it tumble about her shoulders.
She was small-breasted with a naturally narrow waist, according to the fashion of the day. Her legs were long and slender with plenty of shape. She knew that some of her girl friends considered her figure too
slim and boyish, but she preferred this to being on the stout side and having to battle with tight-fitting stays.
Moving on to the bathroom, she poured enough hot water into the tub to make a satisfactory mixture. Then she let herself sink into the water, temporarily fixing her hair up in a twist on the top of her head. The warm water caressed her shapely body and she continued to feel relaxed.
After a time she emerged from the tub and began drying herself with the large towel Jeffries had left for her. When she was thoroughly dried she put the towel down and, her nude body tingling from the brisk rubbing, she crossed the room to get her nightgown from the bed.
She never reached it. Halfway there she suddenly had the terrified feeling that she was not alone in the room. Then she saw a movement behind one of the long velvet window drapes at the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the next instant the drape was pushed aside to reveal the swarthy man in black cape and wide-brimmed black hat. He came quickly to her with a look of mad desire on his thin face.
Della cried out and turned to rush to the door and scream for help. But she was caught from behind and a rag doused in sickly-sweet-smelling ether was held tightly against her nose and mouth. At the same time the dark man held her naked body in check with his other arm. He seemed incredibly strong and she could not struggle free of his unwelcome grasp.
Then the ether began its insidious work and she slumped as she sank into unconsciousness. From that moment until she opened her eyes to darkness and the feeling of cold, she knew nothing. As she gradually revived she knew that her ankles had been tied and her hands bound behind her back.
She was still naked except that a blanket had been thrown around her. It had partly fallen away so that the chill of the night penetrated her. Now she began to take note of where she was. She could hear the panting and clanking of machinery and a steady kind of vibration. All this, along with the damp cold, convinced her she was stretched out in the bottom of a steam-driven craft making its way along the Thames.
Panic returned to her along with her wakening senses. Why? Why had she been captured in this fashion? And who was the sinister man in the hat and cape? Surely the same one who had followed her during the day. How had he managed to get into the house and hide in her room?
The tremor and noise subsided and she heard the wash of waves as the boat apparently made ready to dock somewhere. A moment later the man in black loomed over her.
“So, signorina, you have come to?” he said.
“Why have you done this?” she gasped.
“You do not know?” he asked with light sarcasm.
“No! You must be mad! Let me go! I’m willing to pay a reward!” she said frantically.
“Do not hurry things, signorina,” the man said in his menacingly accented fashion.
“What are you going to do?”
“Just now take you ashore,” he said. “We have reached our destination.”
And with that he leaned down and, gathering the blanket about her, lifted her up in his arms. Then he carried her up a few steps onto the deck and a moment later nimbly stepped over onto the docks.
A yellow fog lay heavy over the entire scene and she could not tell where they were. Somewhere along the Thames, probably still well within the city. He walked along with her weight apparently giving him no trouble.
She said, “I’m going to scream my lungs out for help!”
He gave her a vicious look. “One sound from you and I’ll break that pretty mouth so that it will no longer be your pride!”
“Bully!”
“No matter,” he said. “If you behave properly and make no outcry this need not go badly for you.”
She did not believe him and yet she felt that for the moment she would be best advised to submit. Later she would somehow try to escape.
They reached a cluster of buildings and he went to one and rapped roughly on the door. It was opened after a moment and he carried her inside.
By the light of a candle in a holder on a barrel head, it looked like a stable. He took her over to a stall with a half-partition separating it from the rest of the room and put her down on the straw-covered floor.
“Not the sort of bed you are used to, signorina,” he said with a grim smile.
“Please let me go!” she begged. “I will make no charges against you!”
He laughed unpleasantly. “I promise you that you will not do that!”
A door from the other end of the stable opened and she heard someone utter a long preamble in a tongue which was known to her! Chinese! Someone else joined the first man and there was an excited conversation between the two in their native tongue.
She stared up at her captor in dismay. “Limehouse! You’ve brought me to Limehouse.”
“As good a hiding place for you as any.”
She knew it as an area set apart from the rest of the city. A place in which the population consisted entirely of Chinese, Lascars, Maltese and a few Japanese. A place foreign to all that was Western, where opium dens and fan-tan saloons were as frequent as in any underworld of the East. A place where, despite the vigilance of the police, it was not wise for strangers to intrude.
“Don’t keep me here!” she pleaded.
The swarthy man bent down and said in a low voice, “The price of your release is not too much. Just tell me what you have done with the jeweled Madonna!”
She frowned. “The jeweled Madonna?”
“Don’t pretend ignorance! It has been sent to you!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” she protested.
He nodded. “So. You need more time to think about it. I can give you all the time you need. I’m going to cut the binding at your ankles. But your hands will continue to be bound behind you. And if you make any move to escape because you’re able to walk, you’ll find it to no prupose. There are armed guards outside every door.” He removed the blanket from her nude body and then took out a knife and cut the thongs which had bound her ankles.
She said, “Let me have the blanket! It is not decent to expose me naked in this fashion!”
He shook his head. “On the contrary, I find you most attractive as you are!”
“Monster!” she said in a tremulous voice as she moved away from him. Leaning against the wall of the stall, she raised herself up to a standing position. She was weak and her head still light from the drugging.
“You have only to tell me where the Madonna is,” he said, staring at her with hungry eyes.
“I don’t know anything about a Madonna!”
“No?” he said, taunting her. “Soon you may be praying to her for help!”
Plaintively, she told him, “You are behaving like a madman and asking me about something of which I have no knowledge.”
“Lies will not help,” the man said. “It was sent from Italy to London. We know that. And it was sent to you!”
“Why? Who would send me a jeweled Madonna from Italy?” she demanded.
His smile was sinister. “I do not have to tell you. You know! You are playing a game and I am sick of games!”
“Go!” she said tearfully. “Let me be!”
“I will,” he said softly. “But not for a little.” And he methodically threw off his cloak, took off his hat and began removing his other clothes. She gasped at his audacity and huddled in a corner of the stall, forlorn in her nakedness.
“No!” she begged him. “No!”
He was stripped now, his hairy chest heaving as he came at her. There was a leering smile on his ugly face as his cruel hands reached out and dragged her from the corner to the middle of the stall.
There he pinned her down on the straw and despite her struggles, cries for help and moans, he cruelly took her. When he was sated he got up and stared down at her with contempt.
“You disappoint me, signorina,” he said. “I have had more pleasure in the brothels of Rome!”
She lay there sobbing as he dressed himself. She felt debased, beyond hope. She would never forget these
nightmarish moments in which the act of love had been perpetrated in cruel parody.
The swarthy man in hat and cape stood over her again. He warned, “I’ll give you a half-hour to remember where the Madonna is. If your memory fails you I’m going to turn you over to my Chinese friends. They shall have your favors one by one. They are not as choosy as I and will look on you as a rare experience!”
Chapter Three
Della fainted again. When she came to and opened her eyes she found herself looking up into the wrinkled faces of two old Chinese in black caps and native coats and trousers. The two chuckled over her and jabbered to each other, their conversation mixed with bursts of shrill laughter. As one of the old men reached out a skinny claw to caress her breast, she cried out and moved away in disgust.
This set them on another round of hysterical laughter, after which they padded out and vanished somewhere beyond the stable door. Her horrified thought was that they were going for others to return and gang-rape her. She had heard of white girls treated in such a manner in these Chinese dens and losing their minds as a result!
The swarthy man, whoever he was, had carefully sought out this spot to keep her hidden. The kidnapping had been managed smoothly and there was no question that he was grimly desperate to find the jeweled Madonna of which he had spoken. The only trouble was that she knew nothing about it or why anyone should send it to her from Rome.
Could it have anything to do with her sister? The sister who had recently been found and whom she was going to visit? There was no one else in Rome who could have sent a precious gift to her. She was convinced this could not be and the criminal who had abducted her had somehow come to a wrong conclusion—had in fact mixed her up in a business of which she knew nothing.
Perhaps someone close to her sister, someone who knew her, had been mixed up in the theft of a valuable Madonna. And when it was suspected the Madonna had been shipped out of the country, the thieves believed it sent to her. If only she could convince this madman that he was wrong!
Vintage Love Page 65