The Barefoot Baroness

Chapter Eighteen

It seemed to the baroness that the play that evening lasted twenty hours. She couldn't think, with the racket of laughter all around her and the actors on stage ranting at each other. The audience clapped at every appearance of a certain stout female with feathers in her hair.

At long last there was a wild burst of applause and the curtain fell. After a series of curtain calls, with the fat actress who had played the main role taking a dozen bows, the audience began making those stirring motions involved with rescuing shawls and reticules. It was over, thank God!

And still Olivia had formed no plan of escape. But she meant to attend the Pantheon that night, if she had to walk over the dead bodies of her aunt, of Mrs. Harwood, cousin Laura, and Mr. Meadows to do it. She would go if she had to fight her way out of Peckford's with guns blazing.

Around her the audience was loud in its praise of the performance. Mr. Meadows came forward to place her shawl about her shoulders. "That was quite an experience, was it not?" he smiled. "It will be something to tell your children one day, Baroness."

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, wondering if she had missed some excitement on stage while watching John. Had an actor expired, or been pelted off the stage?

"Why, I wager this will be the great Mrs. Jordan's last role. I would not have missed it for a wilderness of monkeys. She is getting on to be playing Lady Teazle, of course, but there is some magic in the woman. I think she must be part sorceress."

"Was that Mrs. Jordan?" Olivia demanded. She felt cheated. She had been hearing of this legend for years.

Now that she had "seen" her, she could not even say what the play had been. "She is awfully fat," she said crossly.

"Aye, but she is tall and carries the weight well." He smiled benignly and turned to assist the other ladies, and eventually they left their box.

There was an interminable delay as they waited for their carriage to fight its way through the melee outside the theater, and a further delay while Hettie was dropped off at Charles Street. With Mr. Meadows to protect the ladies, Mrs. Harwood decided to skip the rout, and went home with Hettie. After a prolonged series of farewells, the carriage was finally on its way to Peckford's.

Laura enjoyed the evening as much as a lady with a broken heart could. Mentally she appreciated that she was viewing Mrs. Jordan's final role, but emotionally she was miles away. Once she had ascertained that Lord Hyatt was not at the theater, her mind began darting about London in search of him. Her first act at any outing was always to examine the room for a sight of him. She did so again when they reached Peckford's. Whatever part of the room he occupied, she made a point of heading to the part farthest from him. A cursory look failed to spot his blond head in the ballroom.

Almost unconsciously she had adopted the habit of running through the various entertainments offered each night, trying to figure out where Hyatt might be. She had expected he would attend Mrs. Jordan's opening at Covent Garden. When he was not there, she pondered alternatives. Lady Montagu's ball was the other notable party that evening. Olivia had declined the invitation to that grand but dull affair. Laura had thought Hyatt would make an early appearance there, then go to Peckford's smaller but livelier do, where all the young ton would meet. Perhaps he would arrive any moment.

Meanwhile, she must look about for a partner, as Mr. Meadows would want to stand up first with the baroness. Lord Talman still had some hope of winning the baroness's fortune for one of his brothers, and came forward to ask Olivia for a dance. The baroness accepted, feeling that Talman would be easier to get away from than Mr. Meadows. Her attention was on the doorway, for John had not arrived yet. Meadows, disappointed, stood up with Laura.

Halfway through the set, Yarrow and his crew made a noisy appearance. Laura was unhappy to see them, but Olivia had not mentioned Yarrow since the affair at Castlefield. Unacquainted with Yarrow's itinerary, Laura assumed he had been in town all week, and as he had not been pestering the baroness, she thought he had found some new lady to harass. Mr. Meadows made but an indifferent partner. He feared the baroness had a tendre for Talman after all, as she had accepted his escort so eagerly.

During Laura's dance with Meadows, Lord Hyatt appeared at the doorway with a group of bachelors. He was never difficult to spot. A current of excitement always buzzed through the room at his entrance. Heads turned, necks craned, and eyes squinted for a glimpse of him.

"There is Hyatt, just come in," Meadows mentioned gloomily. "I daresay the baroness will give him the next dance. I shall try for the one after that."

"Try for the one after this, Mr. Meadows," she replied. "I doubt Hyatt will ask Olivia for a dance." Or Miss Harwood either, she added to herself.

At the end of the music, one of the other gentlemen from their set asked Laura for the next dance, and she accepted gladly. She did not want Hyatt to see her unpartnered. She gave scarcely a thought to Olivia. When Meadows was with them, he made himself responsible for her welfare, so Laura could take a break from this onerous chore.

Olivia's eyes narrowed when Hyatt entered. Her plan was beginning to take shape. John was standing at the side of the room, making various grimaces and head motions that told her he was impatient to be off. She must avoid Mr. Meadows and Laura, and that meant fooling them into thinking she was dancing with someone else.

As soon as the music stopped, she said to Lord Talman, "I see Lord Hyatt has just come in. I must have a word with him about my portrait. Thank you for a lovely dance, Lord Talman."

He bowed punctiliously. "The pleasure was mine, Baroness. I look forward to seeing you at your ball. You won't forget the card for Rufus and Rodney? So very kind of you-"

"Yes, yes," she said, and darted off toward Hyatt.

"Lord Hyatt, may I have a word with you?" she said. Placing her fingers on his elbow, she detached him from his group to lead him into the hall beyond.

Meadows saw them go and felt sure Hyatt would be the baroness's next partner. Laura watched in confusion, hoping that Olivia had not taken the shatterbrained notion of trying to arrange a reconciliation between her and Hyatt. Olivia frequently scolded her for having lost such a prime parti. What was the wretched girl up to? When the music resumed, Meadows danced with one of the other ladies from their set. It was a rollicking country dance. Between the exertions of the moves and the loud music, coherent thought was impossible.

Olivia peered from the hallway to see that her two jailers were occupied. Then to be rid of Hyatt, she said, "When will you bring my portrait to Charles Street? My aunt is eager to see it. Is it dry yet?"

"It is dry enough to move, though not completely set. I can have it sent over tomorrow, if you are eager to have it."

"Oh yes, I am dying to see it. So you will bring it along tomorrow?"

"I will have it sent, Baroness," he repeated.

Olivia paid no heed to this subtlety. "Wonderful. Thank you so much. I'll let you go now, Lord Hyatt. I am sure you are eager to find Lady Devereau. Actually, I have not seen her this evening."

She fluttered a wave at him and darted upstairs for her wrap. Hyatt was annoyed at the reference to Lady Devereau but relieved that he had not been coerced into partnering that wretched chit of a girl. As the dance had already begun, he would have to wait half an hour for the next set. His eyes skimmed around the floor until he spotted Laura. A scowl drew his eyebrows together as he strolled into the refreshment parlor, where he was soon surrounded by a flock of admirers.

Olivia snatched up her pelisse and went downstairs, where John and his crew awaited her. Other guests were arriving. Under cover of the confusion, Olivia slipped behind a potted palm and got out without her hostess recognizing her.

"By Jove, it took you long enough!" were John's first words, after not seeing his beloved for close to a week.

"You changed the plan," Olivia retorted sharply. "I had a deuced hard time escaping from Mr. Meadows and Laura."

"It'll get easier with practice," he said nonchalantly.

"Do you have my domino?"

"Where's the spare domino, Charlie?" he called to his friend, as they hastened to their carriage.

"I don't have it. You lent it to Miss Hanson last week."

This was a new outrage for Olivia to consider. "Then you will just have to lend me yours," she said to John. "I cannot let my gown be seen. Someone might recognize it."

"Dash it, all white gowns look alike."

Angela Carstairs came to the rescue. "The fact that it is white will alert any Nosey Parkers hanging about that Olivia is a deb. You must lend her yours, John."

"I don't see why everything must be left up to me." He held the door while Olivia climbed into his rig.

She had never been inside it before. To a lady accustomed to the baroque opulence of the Turtle, it seemed a shoddy thing. It was hardsprung and crowded. Empty wine bottles rolled around the floor. The crowding allowed John to slide his arm around her, however, and she was soon distracted from lesser consideration.

"Did you miss me, John?" she asked shyly.

"By the living jingo, I missed you every hour of the day. Did Angela tell you I beat the stuffing out of Hanson in a curricle race to Brighton? Sixteen miles an hour. I won a monkey off him."

"Would that be Miss Hanson's brother?" Olivia asked stiffly.

"Who else would it be? Did they cut up stiff at Castlefield when they got you home?"

"Yes, they were horrid," she said, hoping for support.

"I would have beaten the stuffing out of Talman if he hadn't been your host. I feared he'd take it out on you."

"Oh, no, he is a real gentleman."

"Did he offer for you?" Angela asked.

Sensing that a negative might lower her value, Olivia replied, "I didn't give him the chance. He keeps calling on me ten times a day. Tonight he asked me if his twin brothers could come to my ball."

"If you're planning to fill the house with such lumber as the Castlefield lot, you can keep my card," John said.

"They have already been invited," Olivia replied. This did not seem the moment to tell him he was not to receive a card. Even her biddable Aunt Hettie had drawn the line there.

The conversation continued, mostly about the rousing time enjoyed at Gatwick, until Olivia's head began to ache. When the carriage drew to a stop on the south side of Oxford Street, they arranged their masks.

"Good God, what is that thing?" Yarrow exclaimed, when he saw her peacock mask. The feathers had become tattered from long battering under her skirt.

"It is a mask," she said through gritted teeth.

"Don't expect to be seen on my arm in that. It looks like it came off the ark. Luckily I have a spare in the side pocket.”

Olivia removed her mask and put on the blue one he handed her. It did not match the black domino and was hardly less tattered than the one John casually threw into the gutter.

Yarrow handed Olivia his domino but did not help her put it on. The elegant structure and the fashionable crowd flocking about the doorway of the Pantheon led Olivia to believe the place was not so bad as she had feared. When they entered, the magnificence of gilt trim glimmered under the light of the chandeliers. It was a moment before she realized that the guests were less elegant than the edifice. Several of the men were staggering, and the accents issuing from their companions had never been heard in a polite saloon, unless their owners were passing a tray of drinks.

"Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "This looks very-"

"I told you you would love it," John said.

"No, I do not love it. It seems horrid. But since we are here, let us have one dance, and then return to Peckford's. If we are back soon, Mr. Meadows won't know I ever left."

"We cannot stand up and jig it until we have wet our whistles," John said.

"But I want to dance now!" she insisted. It was the first time since arriving in London that a gentleman had set his wishes ahead of hers.

"I see I must tame you, wildcat," John said, but he said it with a smile that stirred a remembrance of his wicked embrace, and she went along without further argument.

Yarrow led the group upstairs, where boxes were arranged along a balcony, to look down on the dance floor below.

"Champagne, my good fellow, and be snappy about it," he ordered when the waiter came to their table.

The wine arrived. Yarrow put his hand in his pocket and drew out three pennies. "This one is on you, Charlie," he said.

Charlie came up with a shilling. The waiter stood, waiting to see the color of their money before drawing the cork. "Deuce take it, put it on my tab," Yarrow said, becoming surly. "I come here all the time."

"We don't give credit, sir."

Angela began rooting in her reticule and produced the rest of the money.

"The next one is on you," Yarrow said to Olivia. "You are the one who has a monopoly on gold."

"I thought you said tin," Charlie mentioned.

"Gold, tin-it all comes down to the same thing in the end. The little baroness is as rich as a nabob-and a dashed sight prettier."

"I don't carry money with me. A gentleman usually pays when he asks a lady out," Olivia said curtly. She felt it showed poor breeding to discuss money in pubic. And the way John said it-as though it was the money he was interested in, and not her. Really, he had behaved very badly all evening. There were never embarrassments of this sort when she went out with Mr. Meadows. But there was not this sense of excitement and adventure either. Her flesh got goosebumps when John called her a "wildcat" and said he must tame her.

The waiter opened the champagne and filled their glasses. Almost before Olivia had raised her glass to her lips, John and Charlie had finished theirs and emptied the rest of the bottle into their glasses. Olivia drank quickly. The sooner they finished the wine, the sooner they could have their dance and leave.

"Shall we go downstairs now?" she said a moment later, when the champagne was gone.

"Just one more bottle," John said. "I am dry as a cinder in the sun. Waiter!"

"You don't have any money," Angela reminded him.

"Dash it, if he won't take my IOU, he will not refuse the baroness's. Here, my good man."

The waiter ignored him. Yarrow, already deep into his cups, rose on unsteady legs and charged forward, knocking over a chair and bumping into another drunkard. The man was a large brute with hulking shoulders.

"Here, watch where you're going," the brute grumbled.

"Watch it yourself, you mawworm."

"Who are you calling a mawworm?"

"You, you ugly tub of lard."

Without further ado, the brawl began. Yarrow hadn't a chance against his opponent. He was shorter, lighter, drunker, and less trained in the bruising art. The first blow caught him on the nose and sent him sprawling against a table. Charlie was soon on his feet, pitching himself into the fray. The larger man had his supporters as well, and before long, a dozen men were beating each other.

Olivia cowered into her domino and said to Angela, "Let us leave, before the constable arrives."

"We can't leave now. This is the best part!"

She hopped up and went to watch the brawl. Olivia was afraid to join the ladies shouting around the edge of the show, for their language left no doubt that they were actresses or worse. When a hedge bird slid onto one of the empty chairs at her table, however, and began to make some very improper advances, she found courage to join Angela. She saw Yarrow stretched out on the floor with blood coming from his nose. She felt one spurt of womanly compassion, but it was not strong enough to propel her forward to his assistance. When he lurched to his feet and cast up his accounts on the floor, she was well and thoroughly disgusted.

Her only desire was to leave and never see Mr. Yarrow or the Pantheon again. What was she thinking of to come here? She tugged at Angela's elbow. "Let us call the carriage and go home," she begged.

"Spoilsport," Angela taunted.

In desperation, Olivia looked around, hoping to see a friend. She was ready to throw herself on the mercy of the first person she recognized, but she soon realized these were not the sort of people one would meet in polite saloons. The men leered menacingly, and the females, for she would not call them ladies, tossed their heads in derision. Why had she come to this horrid place?

There was nothing for it but to leave alone and hope to find a hansom cab in the streets. She had no money to pay the driver, but she would give him her pearl ring for a marker until she could retrieve it with money. She turned to find the stairway and saw three Bow Street Runners advancing at a run. Oh lord, now what? Would she end up in the roundhouse, disgraced forever?