Vintage Love (85 page)

“What about the horse?”

“Standing free in the carriage shafts which it drug away. The horse is all right.”

“I’m thankful for that,” she said.

“How can you be thankful for anything with all this starting again?” Sir Roger wanted to know. “Where is your aunt?”

“Aunt Isobel is down in the servants’ quarters with Miles. The old man was badly beaten about the head.”

“So it goes on!”

“No,” she said. “I think this is the end of it.”

“I wish I could agree, young lady,” Sir Roger said sternly. “It seems to me you’re ready to encourage this menace until everyone is murdered, including yourself.”

“That is not true,” she said. “You put me in the carriage. Why didn’t you notice it wasn’t Miles in the driver’s seat?”

Sir Roger frowned and looked uneasy. He waved a huge hand. “I assumed it was Miles. I never even looked up.”

“Nor did I until I realized I was being taken in the wrong direction.”

“Jumping from that carriage wasn’t smart. You might have been killed!”

“I wasn’t,” she said. “And anything would be better than being a captive of that man again.”

Sir Roger paced and fumed. “I don’t know what has happened to our London police. Used to be the best in the world. Now they let girls be abducted out of their homes and madly speeding carriages to go through the streets without being halted!”

“They made a brilliant try to halt the carriage,” she said in defense of the police. “I know! I was there!”

The old lawyer glared at her. “And lucky to be alive! And don’t tell me this state of affairs doesn’t all stem from that Rome business!”

“I know we won’t agree on that,” she said mildly. “So lest us postpone the arguments until later. Just now I’d like to go see how Miles is making out. The doctor may have arrived.”

This calmed the old man down a little. They made their way to the servants’ quarters where the doctor was treating the elderly coachman. Aunt Isobel stood nervously in the corridor.

“How is Miles?” Della asked her.

“The doctor says he will recover,” her aunt said. “But he is still very confused.”

“Little wonder,” Sir Roger boomed angrily. “Those criminals tried to kill him!”

Aunt Isobel gave him a pathetic look. “What are we to do, Sir Roger? How is this all going to end?”

Della broke in, “Sir Roger doesn’t know any more than we do. London is not the safe, sane place it used to be. We can only hope this last failure will discourage those men.”

Sir Roger shook his head in dispute. “You are wrong if you think that. They would not have gone this far unless they were ready to go further.”

“So you think there is more to come?” Della said.

“I’m certain of it,” he said.

• • •

But in the end she won her own way. On the following Monday they started their journey, accompanied by many dire warnings from Sir Roger. Despite his pessimism, the first stages of the trip were completely uneventful. Their schedule called for them to stay overnight in Paris before embarking on the train for Rome.

They stayed at the Plaza-Athénée and had their dinner in the great dining room. All were delighted with the food and Aunt Isobel complained of being sleepy and went up to her room after dinner. She was in a bad frame of mind because she was still against the journey.

With the spinster gone upstairs Della and Henry were left to themselves. He hesitated with her by the hotel elevator and said, “It is still early. Would you like to take a look at Paris by night?”

“The can-can girls,” she said eagerly. “I’d love to see them!”

“See them you shall!” the young lawyer said, pleased.

They left the hotel and hired a cab which took them from the broad tree-lined avenue where they were staying to the cheaper, more crowded Montmartre district. The driver let them out in a dark street before a one-story building from which sounds of music and merriment came.

“This is one of the famous can-can places,” he told her. “You may even see the famed artist Henri Toulouse-Lautrec here. I was told it is one of his favorite spots!”

“Wonderful!” she said, thrilled.

Inside there was the clamor of lively music and the shrill singing of the can-can girls, along with their bold dancing on a brightly lighted little stage with a backdrop of a park scene. The air was filled with smoke, the odor of good food and a hint of body sweat. A fat maître d’hôtel led them through the crowded place to a small table near the front.

“A top table for the English demoiselle,” he said, beaming at her.

Henry, in evening dress from their dinner at the hotel, stood out among the crowd. He smiled at the fat, mustached man and gave him a generous tip. The maître d’hôtel was properly grateful and sent a waiter rushing to take their orders.

They both ordered wine and gave their attention to the lively show. True to what she expected, the girls wore black stockings and colorful costumes which they held up most brazenly at certain points in the dance so that their garters, bare legs and white underthings were exposed. The crowd, a mixed one, greeted this part of the performance with loud applause and shouts of encouragement.

The entertainment ended for a little, leaving a lone violinist and piano to offer musical background for the drinking and dining which was going on.

Henry smiled at her and said, “I don’t think you’ll find Rome as exciting as Paris!”

Della eyed him archly over her wineglass. “I think these pretty dance-hall girls have a special attraction for you.”

“It was you who urged me to come here,” her handsome escort reminded her.

“True! It is such fun! One can forget everything here. I wish we didn’t have to go to Rome, but there is no choice.”

He said, “What if the girl turns out to be an impostor?”

“I will have at least tried.”

“It is a long way to go on a mere chance.”

“Prince Sanzio’s letters seemed authentic enough. Irma was kidnapped and it is quite possible she turned up in Rome.”

Henry nodded. “I’d be more willing to think it possible if there had not been those attacks on you in London.”

“I don’t think they had anything to do with my search for my sister, even though Sir Roger doesn’t agree,” she said. “And let us forget all that for the evening.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“It is fun being here with you,” she told him.

Henry said, “I’ve often thought that Paris is the perfect spot for a honeymoon. Perhaps we can return again.”

“Perhaps,” she said, gentle amusement in her eyes. “We can talk about that after Rome.”

“After Rome!” the young man complained. “I’ll be glad when the business is settled!”

“And so shall I,” Della said.

There was a stir at the other side of the big, dark room and Henry touched her arm and said, “See who is joining us!”

She stared in the direction Henry indicated and saw the headwaiter proudly leading in a dwarflike man wearing thick glasses, followed by a spectacular, tall blond girl with a boa thrown about her neck. She had seen many photo studies of the famed painter so she exclaimed at once, “It is Toulouse-Lautrec!”

“I told you he came here,” Henry said as the waiter went about seating the little man and the tall, lovely girl.

“I can’t believe I’m in the same room with him,” Della said with delight.

“So Paris has not been such a waste of time?”

“I would never say that,” she protested. “It is just that I’m in a hurry to get to Rome.”

The famous artist received many people at his table. It seemed that a third of the patrons knew him and wished to pay homage to him. He accepted it all grandly and drank absinthe with his lady friend. Then the can-can girls returned to put on another bright show and this time direct their kicking and thigh exposure to the little man. He showed his pleasure by rising and applauding. Even on his feet he was barely taller than the table!

They left the busy place before the artist. Della knew they had an early train departure and didn’t want to be too weary for the journey. Outside they picked a carriage from the waiting line and were driven through the murky streets to the Plaza Athénée.

Della was completely reconciled with Henry and she rested in his arms all the while they were driven to the hotel in the carriage, which smelled slightly of the stables. She smiled to herself as she recalled his earlier comment that Paris would be a perfect place for a honeymoon. She was of the same mind and hoped that it would be soon and with the handsome man at her side.

He had changed since their quarrel and now appeared to be a great deal more considerate. There was little of the stodgy young British lawyer, whom she used to resent, about him now. She decided their separation and reconciliation had been a good thing. Each of them now valued the other more.

The lobby of the hotel was quiet and almost empty of people. Henry saw her across to the elevator and they waited for it a moment. As they did so her eyes happened to settle on a man in an easy chair near the main doorway. He was reading a newspaper.

Just as the elevator arrived and they were ready to step inside the man lowered his newspaper slightly to stare at them. And for just a moment she had a stab of fear, for the face behind the newspaper resembled the swarthy countenance of her abductor!

“Come along,” Henry said, guiding her into the elevator. And she did not have the chance of a second look at the man. Nor did she mention him to Henry, though the incident had worried her.

Henry saw her safely into the suite she shared with Aunt Isobel. The young lawyer lingered only long enough to kiss her goodnight and left for his own nearby room. She looked into her aunt’s room and saw that she was asleep. Then she went to her own room and prepared for bed.

She undressed and put on a dressing gown and was studying herself in a hand mirror before the dresser. She moved the mirror in such a way that it reflected the window area. She was just in time to see a hand emerging from between the drapes!

She did not hesitate but screamed and with the mirror still in her hand rushed to her aunt’s room and closed the door and locked it. Her Aunt Isobel awoke at once in a state of confusion.

“What is it, girl?” Aunt Isobel demanded with sleepy indignation.

“An intruder!”

“Where?”

“In my room! I saw only a hand through the drapes and I ran in here!”

“Is that door locked?” Aunt Isobel was now on her feet and slipping into a dressing gown.

“Yes! It may be the same man who came after me in London. I thought I saw him in the lobby as we came in just now!”

“Did you tell Henry?”

“No!”

“How could you be such a stupid creature?” her aunt demanded angrily.

“I thought I must be imagining things,” she wailed. “I didn’t want to upset him without reason!”

“Considerate!” Aunt Isobel said with sarcasm and crossed to the door and leaned her ear against it. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” she said. Then she decided, “I’ll buzz for service. That will bring the night watchman!”

“Then do it!” her aunt waved to her. And her ear to the door again, she said, “I can’t hear anyone moving about in the living room.”

“I expect whoever it was has gone,” she said. “They hoped to get to me before I could raise an alarm. When I came in to you they probably fled!”

Her aunt stared at her grimly. “Are you sure you saw the hand?”

She sighed. “And you wondered why I didn’t mention seeing that familiar face to Henry? I’d have had the same doubting treatment.”

“Did you buzz several times?” her aunt asked.

“Yes. I made sure someone would hear me,” she said.

“Then we’ll wait until he arrives at the suite door and then let him in,” Aunt Isobel decided.

“That should be safe enough,” Della agreed, still upset by the experience.

Several minutes more went by before they heard the light knocking on the door to the suite. Aunt Isobel gave her a warning look, unlocked the bedroom door, and went hurriedly across the living room and opened the door. A plump, elderly man in the hotel footmen’s uniform stood respectfully outside.

In fluent French Aunt Isobel told him, “A man tried to get into my niece’s room. From the balcony!”

The man looked amazed. “Is it possible?” he asked.

“Cone with me,” Aunt Isobel said and led him to Della’s room with Della accompanying them.

Aunt Isobel pointed to the yellow drapes at the big window. “She saw a hand appearing between the drapes!”

“A hand!” The man seemed surprised at every statement.

“There!” Della told him in her less-than-adequate French. “I saw it!”

The man nodded vaguely and with some caution pushed aside the drapes. He at once discovered that the French doors behind them were opened out onto the balcony. He turned to them with an expression on his round face which indicated he considered this unusual.

Then he stepped out onto the balcony and after a long moment came back in again. He looked apologetic. “I fear Mademoiselle was right. There is a rope hanging outside. It was used by someone from the floor above to reach this balcony.”

“I knew it!” Della exclaimed. “Then you need only to find who has the suite above to know who the intruder was!”

“Yes. You must check on that at once,” Aunt Isobel said. “The rope must be removed and the French doors locked from the inside. This is a disgraceful thing to happen!”

“I’m most unhappy!” the man said. “I shall inform the night manager!”

“And let us know what you find out,” Aunt Isobel told him. “We’ll be awake and waiting.”

“Yes, madame,” the plump man said, bowing and hurrying out.

“French hotels!” Aunt Isobel complained. “This would never happen at the Savoy!”

“I’m sure equally unpleasant things happen in London hotels,” Della said. “And in any case it is our fault. That man is after me!”

“The hotel should offer you proper protection. Did you leave those French doors unlocked?”

“I don’t remember,” she said unhappily.

“What about informing Henry?”

Della said, “I see no reason to wake him. The intruder has gone.”

“Suppose he comes back?”

“He won’t!”