CHAPTER EIGHT
An alcoholic newsboy with an anger management control problem that has seduced more than half the female populace of New York City.
Jesus Christ, Darby, what the HELL were you thinking?
Darby Rockwell stepped back from the antique full-length mirror, the fantastically expensive antique full-length mirror, the cold glass encased in the glimmering mahogany wood..
Her gaze flickered from the tips of her expensive heels, up her expensive scarlet dress, and to connecting with her own eyes.
She stepped back, shaking her head, causing her neat spiral curls to bounce. "Huh-uh. Huh-uh. No. There is no way in hell I am going. What was I thinking.?"
A voice behind her made Darby let out a gasp and nearly jump out of her skin. "What do you mean what you were.Good Lord, Darby girl, you look fantastic!"
Darby spun around to see Katrina Van Witt climbing, unsuccessfully, in through the window facing the front lawn.
Darby, still shaking her head, trudged over to the window, coming to Katrina's aid by grabbing her wrist and pulling her in through the window. Katrina tumbled to the floor, but helped herself up, her eyes still locked on Darby.
"Darby, why are you shaking your head at me?"
Darby spun around, gazing into the mirror once again, Katrina's reflection behind hers. "Kat, I can not do this. How could I have been so utterly STUPID! I mean, I am going OUT with a NEWSBOY that I do not even know! I, Darby goddamn Rockwell!"
Katrina rolled her eyes, and putting her hands on her hips, emitted a sigh. "Darby Lynn, I thought we went through this today. Now you mean to tell me that just because you have a small case of the jitters you are going to screw me over? Me, Darby! I am covering your ass by pretending to be you. Your mother could walk in any minute and catch me and it would be curtains for both of us! But, I'd rather me get caught than you not go on this date, because if you do not go then I will have just wasted my time on some sorry ass socialite who is going to let herself become Mrs. David Van Prick! So, Darby Rockwell, I pose this to you: What in the blue hell are you going to do?"
Katrina Van Witt and her wonderful speeches. They did the trick every time.
Darby turned about to face Katrina.
"But, Kat!" she cried, twirling a strand of hair and fidgeting about.
Katrina let out a laugh and placed her hands on her friend's shoulders. "Darby, please. You are going to go out with Spot Conlon and have a hell of a time. If he acts like a prick, well so be it. You are wonderful and great and look gorgeous tonight and any man who thinks you are not worthy of him is a jackass. Go out and have a ball. You owe it to yourself. I mean, hell, if, you hear me, IF it comes to the fact that you have to marry Van Prick, do you really want him to be your first kiss? To be the first man you have ever been with? Go out and have fun. I shall stay under the covers like a good little girl, pretending to be you and not make a peep. You did tell your mother not to disturb you, correct?"
Darby nodded, relief flooding through her. "Yes. Mother shan't bother you. All afternoon I acted as though I were desperately ill with the Spanish flu, and she believed me!"
Katrina let out a laugh. "Well, I didn't get past Mother so easily. She knew I was lying through my teeth, so she made me confess."
Darby's mouth dropped. "You-you--you TOLD her?"
"Relax, Darby!" Katrina giggled. "I told my mother and she thinks it is a positive crime that you must marry Van Prick. She thought it wan an exquisite idea that you go and see this newsie. And she thought it a wonderful thought that I be you, poor little Darby Rockwell bedridden with a nasty case of the Spanish flu!"
Darby let out a sigh of relief. "Jesus, I envy you, Kat. I wish I had your mother. Well, anyhow, it's around seven, is it not?"
Katrina nodded. "Yes, it was about fifteen 'til when my parents left. I left right after them. So, you should be right on time for Romeo! Ah me!"
Darby playfully swatted Katrina. "Oh, hush. Oh, poor Darby, poor sick Darby! You have a horrid case of Spanish Influenza, and we should get you into bed!"
Katrina let out a snort and rolled her eyes, shucking off the overcoat that she had worn to reveal a nightgown.
Darby clicked her tongue. "Perfect touch, Miss Van Witt."
After Katrina was settled into Darby's goose-down bed, Darby commanded her to lie on her side so her back faced the door.
"Alright," she said. "I'm going to pull the covers over your head, Kat! Don't suffocate on me!"
"Oh, go to hell!" Katrina's muffled voice replied.
Darby burst into a grin. "Alright, Kat. We are all set. I am going to go now. If anything happens, anything, blame it all on me. Say that I was on a date with a newsboy. Mother and Father are still reeling from my throwing of Mrs. Marks apple pie in ickle David's face, and maybe if they discover that their baby is off with some ruffian the Van Wycks will break the engagement!"
Katrina pulled the covers off her head and arched her back so she could see Darby. "Darby, they shan't find out. They won't. Now get the hell out of here."
Darby lent her friend a genuine smile. "Kat, how could I ask for a better friend than you?"
Katrina shrugged. "You couldn't. Now go!"
"Alright, alright!" Darby whispered, as Katrina once again disappeared under the covers.
Humming a tune she had learned as a child, Darby strode around the bed and over to the ornate full-length mirror, admiring her reflection and straightening her crimson bonnet. She was giving the mirror a grand smile when Katrina's muffled voice came from under the covers, "Have you gone, Darby?"
Taking her gaze away from the reflection, Darby made her way to the side of the bed parallel to the French doors that opened into an airy balcony overlooking the side yard. Leaning over the railing, and the fresh snow blowing in her face, she released a joyous sigh, her breath forming into a frost. She then cast her eyes to the grounds, and had to place her gloved palms on the railing to keep from tumbling over. For through the veils of immaculate snow, she could see none other than Spot Conlon scaling the black wrought-iron fence that isolated the Rockwell estate from the sidewalk out front.
Her perfectly red-lacquered lips fell open. "What in Christ's sake does he think he is doing?"
Katrina immediately threw back the covers, her green eyes glinting and hell fire hair awry. "Go!" she hissed.
Darby quickly turned over her shoulder, unable to suppress the smile from forming on her lips, her eyes glittering with anticipation. "Yes, Kat, yes! I love you! Good."
Alas, Darby's words quickly were murdered before they reached the air. Her wide eyes locked onto Katrina's, the same mask of utter fear being reciprocated on the Irish girl's face. Darby felt her stomach immediately lodge itself into her throat.
Outside the closed bedroom door, there was the clicking of shoes on the gleaming hardwood floors of the hallway and the sound of muffled voices.
"I do hope that I am not causing any trouble, Mrs. Rockwell."
"Oh, don't be silly, David! I'm sure Darby is just dying to see you! She is so very ill and I fancy that your voice will make her feel all the better. Just a warning, dear, don't get too close! We don't want the both of you to catch ill!"
Katrina's jade eyes were bulging from her skull. "David!" she mouthed.
Darby could feel the marvelous anxiety slithering throughout her. "Mother!" she cried soundlessly.
Both girls' gazes snapped to the door as the knob turned and the door slowly started to creak open.
"Are you sure, Mrs. Rockwell? I would love to see Darby-but is she well enough to see me?" David's voice floated into the room, thickly coated in false concern.
"Oh, don't be silly David! It's a pity she couldn't come to the party tonight, but just parley to her and I'm sure she will feel so much more well!" Mrs. Rockwell's hand was on the slightly ajar door, her voice high and girlish.
Darby and Katrina's eyes once again interlocked. Kat was not deathly pale under her mass of red hair.
Darby reckoned she was suffocating. She stepped forward, yet spun about and dove onto the balcony once more. Spot had succeeded in scaling the fence and was to the other side. He let go and fell cleanly on his feet in the thick snow.
"Oh, CHRIST!" she hissed under her breath, the panic starting to fill her brain. Her mother could not see him, no matter what. Ava was still grotesquely flirting with David outside the room, yet Darby knew that the door would open at any moment.
Whirling about, her hands waving throughout the air, Darby elicited a squeak when she heard the door begin to creak open. In one rapid motion, she slammed the French doors leading to the balcony behind her, praying that Spot Conlon wouldn't aspire to any clever notions like throwing pebbles at the windows to gain her attention. Bent at the waist, she sped across the room, throwing herself behind the opening door, just as Katrina slammed her back on the bed, throwing the covers over her head.
Darby whole body was quaking and her breathing shaky as her spacing became more confined as the door was thrown open. Through the crack, she could see her mother's back adorned in her vainglorious maroon dress.
"Well, David, not don't be too long!" Ava Rockwell playfully scolded.
There was silence for a moment, save the audible hammering of Darby's heart in her chest. Then, the door suddenly began to close. She uttered a gasp and threw her palm to her mouth to stifle it.
The room was shrouded in semi-darkness. David Van Wyck stood only a few feet away from her, garbed in an incredibly expensive raven suit, staring at the heap on the bed that was Katrina. He need only turn his head to the left to find her out.
Incredibly, he only ran a hand through his polished brown hair, an arrogant smirk playing unto his lips like the light, and padded over to the bed. Darby watched in sheer awe, her breath bated in her throat, as he approached the bed placing his hand on a gleaming wooden chair that was mate to her desk. With a quick flick of the wrist, he had planted the chair on the side of the bed, a few feet of distance between the two. He slowly sank down onto it, straddling it backwards, lazily placing his elbow on the chair back, and resting his chin in his palm.
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Darby, Darby, Darby. Sick with the flu, eh?"
Katrina did not flinch a muscle under the sheets.
"Awh, c'mon, Darby girl! Your dear old Mumzy said that my voice would make you all better!" He tilted his head back and released a proud laugh. "You know that tonight was to be our betrothal? Well, last week was supposed to be our betrothal, but you just had to throw that lovely little pie in my face, didn't you?" His voice lowered a pitch. "You can be awful feisty, Darby girl, and sometimes, how can I say this? You make me fucking infuriated." He emitted another false laugh. "Yep, good old Robert and Christina were plenty mad about that whole incident, and Robert was about to call it all off-but I told him not too. Why, you may ask. Well, you see, I don't fancy you very much as a person, Darby girl. I know that Irish bitch influences you with all that feminist bullshit and perhaps that's why you're so buck wild. And of course, I could have any girl in all New York if I wanted. But, no, Darby girl, I want you. You. Why?"
Darby watched in sheer horror as David stood, knocking the chair to the floor and sat down upon the edge of the bed. He traced a finger down Katrina's spine through the covers. "I want your body," he whispered. "Yes, at first it was purely for me, for lust. But now I want to teach you a lesson, Darby girl. I want to make you feel like a dirty whore on our wedding night when you give yourself to me. I want to make you pay for making me look like an absolute fucking fool in front of all of New York's finest!"
Darby fell against the wall, her heart in her mouth. Whether she was fantastically stunned by Van Prick's revelation or in the fact he looked as though poised to throw back the covers and reveal Katrina, Darby knew she had to do something.
And on top of it all, she heard the faint clicking of some object against the French doors. She winced. Oh, Christ Almighty! Why does that newsboy have to throw those damn pebbles?
Her eyes fluttered open to see David averting his gaze from the French doors to the covers one again. This time, Darby knew that in her gut he was going to pull back the covers and see that mass of red hair and that she would never be able to rendezvous with Spot Conlon ever again.
So, she did the only imaginable thing that came to mind. Straightening, she cried in a shaky voice, "David, David, are you still in there?'
She exhaled a large sum of air when she saw David flick his gaze from the bed to the door. "Mrs. Rockwell? Is that you?"
Darby had to suppress herself for waltzing about the room in sheer rapture. Only David Van Wyck in all his utter stupidity could be duped into such a foolish ruse. "Yes, David, it is. I do fancy you should come out now. Darby does need her rest!"
David reluctantly arose from the bed, his gaze once again falling on Katrina. "All right, Mrs. Rockwell, if you think it is best."
Infuriation in disappointment manifesting itself in the chartreuse his cheeks took on, David Van Wyck stocked across the room, miraculously not even paying any heed to Darby. His hand grasped the knob and he flung the door open, Darby once more being in a claustrophobic situation.
The door clicked behind him. "Mrs. Rockwell? Are you out here, Mrs. Rockwell?"
Darby's breath finally released itself from her lungs and she sprang over to the vanity, grasping the key from the top drawer and bounding over to the door again, fitting the key in the lock, relishing in the clicking sound.
Katrina abruptly sat up, throwing the covers down. Her entire body was shaking as she quickly cupped her hands to her mouth.
Darby pushed off against the door, leaving the key in the lock. She was not going to take any chances whatsoever. She slowly stode across the room and to the French doors, Katrina's wild eyes following her.
"Do you know how close we came to being found out!" he melodic Irish accent was high pitched.
Darby disregarded Katrina and flung open the French doors, the bitter cold wind chilling her to the marrow of her bones. The doors wildly banging behind her, she walked erectly out to the edge of the balcony.
Spot Conlon stood below, his threadbare scarf whipping untamed in the wind, his arm poised backwards, his other filled with small stones.
"Will you stop with that horrid motion, you ungodly newsboy!" Darby screeched down at him.
Spot dropped his arm to his side and stared up at her. "Hello to ya, too!" he shouted back.
Darby released an openly disgusted noise, and turned around, entering the room once more and slamming the French doors behind her.
"Darby, did you here me?" Katrina shrilly asked from the bed.
Darby quickly glanced at her, placing her index and middle fingers to her temples. "What, Katrina?" she asked, trying to bridle her irritation. Katrina rose out of the bed, quickly hurrying to Darby's side. "Darby! Van Prick knows something is not right. I mean, I thought that this would work out, no problem, but, Darby, have we really looked at the consequences if your parents really did find out--"
Darby turned her head, eyes narrowed into slits to face Katrina, whose voice quickly died. "Shut-up. You are the one that is always giving me these motivational speeches. And suddenly you get cold feet and, Kat, I would give you a lecture to rival one of your finest but now there is a very attractive yet cold newsboy out there waiting for me and I shall not disappoint him! The door is lock and I highly doubt that my mother would give enough of a damn to leave the sides of her haughty guests just to break into my room at David van Wyck's snivelings that there was something the matter with poor baby Darby Girl."
Katrina took a step backwards, her eyes wide. "Wow, I think you did just beat my all time finest speech."
Darby couldn't help not suppressing a smile. "Oh, Kat, I love you, really I do. You are an utter angel for doing this and I know I could be risking my life and yours by doing this, but what is the worst that could happen? If I am caught then perhaps the Van Wycks will just be to disgusted this time to listen to David's pleas to marry me, the filthy bastard."
Katrina grinned. "Another one for Darby Rockwell."
Darby rolled her eyes. "Oh, come now, Kat. He's waiting. And I shan't tarry any longer."
Katrina sighed, falling back onto the goose-down bed. "You're quite right, Darby. I shall stay here like the utter angel I am until you return, and then you must tell me the explicit details!"
Darby could feel the intense heat her face took on. "Oh, Kat, do be quiet. I shall be back. Do try to be good, will you?"
Katrina raised an eyebrow as she settled into the voluptuous bedding, her green eyes glittering. "Do go to hell, Darby, will you?"
Darby shook her head, her blonde spirals bounding about. "Perhaps I will, Kat. I do not know where he is taking me."
Without another word, Darby turned around and strode once again to the French doors, pulling them open, allowing the pristine snow to stain her body. She made her way over to the balcony, her satin heels clicking on the cement, and leaned over.
Spot Conlon still stood below, his breathtaking smile upon his lips, his cheeks stained red from the cold. "Well, we'se already had our introductions."
"Indeed!" Darby replied in an arrogant tone, readjusting her fantastically expensive bonnet.
Spot jammed his hands even further into his weather beaten gray jacket. "Hey, ya know, dis here kind of reminds me of sumthin!"
"Oh, really?" Darby inquired, an eyebrow raised. "And what would that be?"
Spot cocked his head, as though in a state of deep though. Suddenly, it seemed as though inspiration had been induced into him. "Ah, yeah!" he hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Da one wit da two people and da balcony. Da one by-what da hell's his name? Gregory Shakespen!"
Darby had to place a gloved hand to her mouth to stifle her hysterical laughter. "Gregory Shakespen? You don't happen to mean William Shakespeare, per chance, now would you?"
She saw that same amazing grin light up his face. "Yeah, dat's it: William Shakespeare. Read it a long time ago in a book dat Whitie hocked from da book store!"
Darby shook her head and sighed. "Newsboys."
"What ya say?" he asked, confusing filling his face.
"Nothing, nothing." And as quickly as it had retreated, her arrogance once again reappeared. She flicked her golden mass of hair over her shoulder and called in a haughty voice, "Well, you did indeed call on me, sir, so I am quite wondering how you expect me to get down!"
Spot appeared taken aback. "Git down?"
"Yes get down!" she cried. "I certainly cannot use the main entrance for my mother is throwing a grand party and."
"Use da trellis!"
Darby immediately halted, and stared down at him incredulously. "The trellis? The trellis? You want me to use the damn trellis?"
Through the falling snow, Spot shrugged simply. "Yeah, why not?"
Disgust masked her features and she stepped back, appalled. "A lady of my class cannot use a trellis--"
"Den how d'ya expect to git down?"
"What?"
"To git down. Ya said yaself ya muddah's t'rowin some hoity-toidy pahty. Climb halfway down and den jump da rest. I'll catch ya!"" Darby regarded him with utter disbelief. "Climb the trellis-jump down? Sir!"
"Ah, stop yer bitchin' and jist do it! I'se cold!"
Darby stepped back, astonished. She was prepared to release another string of protests, when she decided to cave and begrudgingly stepped towards the balcony edge, peering down. Her marvelous fear of heights was creeping up on her psyche. "Uh, ahem, it sure is a long way down--"
His steely eyes glimmered. "Trust me. I promise dat I'll catch ya."
She deeply swallowed. "Only-only if you promise."
His smile glittered back at her through the falling snow. "I'se already did."
Darby elicited a groan and raised her eyed skyward, marking the symbol of the cross across her chest. "Dear God, save my soul."
With a prayer and bated breath, Darby reluctantly placed one leg over the marble balcony, followed by the other. Now standing on the edge, grabbing onto the thick railing for dear life, she peered down at Spot, who stood with his hands raised, coaxing her to climb down.
Trying desperately to keep focus, she shimmied over to the trellis where her mother's delicate blood red roses grew in the summer. She breathed a sigh of relief when she had one foot on the trellis. Alas, as she was placing her second foot on the trellis, her fantastically expensive heel slipped on the ice that had so helpfully collected, and she felt herself slip. She released a cry and desperately tried to latch onto the trellis or gain some footing, yet she felt herself tumbling through the air with a scream.
Yet, instead of crashing into the blisteringly cold drifts of snow, she fell into a set of strong arms, the wind being vacuumed from her lungs and slithering out her trachea. Her eyes quickly fluttered open to find Spot Conlon peering down at her with wide blue eyes, his dirty blonde hair blowing about in the wind, his cheeks and tip of nose bright red.
He could only stare down at her, absolutely stunned and breathless. Darby, still shaking, managed to find her breath again. "Thanks for keeping you promise," she said, with a dash of ironic humor.
Spot emitted a forced laugh, releasing his arm from under her legs. Yet her posture was still quivering and she fell into him.
Trudging over the drifts of snow, they somehow slunk through the gates and to the sidewalk. A cold draft pierced the air, tossing Darby's flaxen curls about. She stuffed her hands even further into her rabbit fur muffler and leaned more into Spot, as his arm grew tighter about her.
She quickly looked back at her father's grand mansion, ablaze with a fire in the cold night and veils of snow.
Darby suddenly felt a peculiar sense of liberation. She had made it. Here she was, outside the gates with the newsboy and Van Prick was inside with all the pinchbeck socialites of New York.
A smile danced at her lips, yet faded as a another though occurred to her. "Sir?"
"Uh-huh?" he asked, trying to settle into his threadbare jacket as much as possible.
"Where are we going?"
Spot erupted into laughter, his grip tightening on Darby.
"It's not to a pub, is it?" she cautiously asked.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the laughter. "Nah, Darby, its much bettah dan dat."
Darby released a groan and placed a gloved hand to her forehead as she allowed Spot Conlon to lead her off Main and to an unknown destination.
An alcoholic newsboy with an anger management control problem that has seduced more than half the female populace of New York City.
Jesus Christ, Darby, what the HELL were you thinking?
Darby Rockwell stepped back from the antique full-length mirror, the fantastically expensive antique full-length mirror, the cold glass encased in the glimmering mahogany wood..
Her gaze flickered from the tips of her expensive heels, up her expensive scarlet dress, and to connecting with her own eyes.
She stepped back, shaking her head, causing her neat spiral curls to bounce. "Huh-uh. Huh-uh. No. There is no way in hell I am going. What was I thinking.?"
A voice behind her made Darby let out a gasp and nearly jump out of her skin. "What do you mean what you were.Good Lord, Darby girl, you look fantastic!"
Darby spun around to see Katrina Van Witt climbing, unsuccessfully, in through the window facing the front lawn.
Darby, still shaking her head, trudged over to the window, coming to Katrina's aid by grabbing her wrist and pulling her in through the window. Katrina tumbled to the floor, but helped herself up, her eyes still locked on Darby.
"Darby, why are you shaking your head at me?"
Darby spun around, gazing into the mirror once again, Katrina's reflection behind hers. "Kat, I can not do this. How could I have been so utterly STUPID! I mean, I am going OUT with a NEWSBOY that I do not even know! I, Darby goddamn Rockwell!"
Katrina rolled her eyes, and putting her hands on her hips, emitted a sigh. "Darby Lynn, I thought we went through this today. Now you mean to tell me that just because you have a small case of the jitters you are going to screw me over? Me, Darby! I am covering your ass by pretending to be you. Your mother could walk in any minute and catch me and it would be curtains for both of us! But, I'd rather me get caught than you not go on this date, because if you do not go then I will have just wasted my time on some sorry ass socialite who is going to let herself become Mrs. David Van Prick! So, Darby Rockwell, I pose this to you: What in the blue hell are you going to do?"
Katrina Van Witt and her wonderful speeches. They did the trick every time.
Darby turned about to face Katrina.
"But, Kat!" she cried, twirling a strand of hair and fidgeting about.
Katrina let out a laugh and placed her hands on her friend's shoulders. "Darby, please. You are going to go out with Spot Conlon and have a hell of a time. If he acts like a prick, well so be it. You are wonderful and great and look gorgeous tonight and any man who thinks you are not worthy of him is a jackass. Go out and have a ball. You owe it to yourself. I mean, hell, if, you hear me, IF it comes to the fact that you have to marry Van Prick, do you really want him to be your first kiss? To be the first man you have ever been with? Go out and have fun. I shall stay under the covers like a good little girl, pretending to be you and not make a peep. You did tell your mother not to disturb you, correct?"
Darby nodded, relief flooding through her. "Yes. Mother shan't bother you. All afternoon I acted as though I were desperately ill with the Spanish flu, and she believed me!"
Katrina let out a laugh. "Well, I didn't get past Mother so easily. She knew I was lying through my teeth, so she made me confess."
Darby's mouth dropped. "You-you--you TOLD her?"
"Relax, Darby!" Katrina giggled. "I told my mother and she thinks it is a positive crime that you must marry Van Prick. She thought it wan an exquisite idea that you go and see this newsie. And she thought it a wonderful thought that I be you, poor little Darby Rockwell bedridden with a nasty case of the Spanish flu!"
Darby let out a sigh of relief. "Jesus, I envy you, Kat. I wish I had your mother. Well, anyhow, it's around seven, is it not?"
Katrina nodded. "Yes, it was about fifteen 'til when my parents left. I left right after them. So, you should be right on time for Romeo! Ah me!"
Darby playfully swatted Katrina. "Oh, hush. Oh, poor Darby, poor sick Darby! You have a horrid case of Spanish Influenza, and we should get you into bed!"
Katrina let out a snort and rolled her eyes, shucking off the overcoat that she had worn to reveal a nightgown.
Darby clicked her tongue. "Perfect touch, Miss Van Witt."
After Katrina was settled into Darby's goose-down bed, Darby commanded her to lie on her side so her back faced the door.
"Alright," she said. "I'm going to pull the covers over your head, Kat! Don't suffocate on me!"
"Oh, go to hell!" Katrina's muffled voice replied.
Darby burst into a grin. "Alright, Kat. We are all set. I am going to go now. If anything happens, anything, blame it all on me. Say that I was on a date with a newsboy. Mother and Father are still reeling from my throwing of Mrs. Marks apple pie in ickle David's face, and maybe if they discover that their baby is off with some ruffian the Van Wycks will break the engagement!"
Katrina pulled the covers off her head and arched her back so she could see Darby. "Darby, they shan't find out. They won't. Now get the hell out of here."
Darby lent her friend a genuine smile. "Kat, how could I ask for a better friend than you?"
Katrina shrugged. "You couldn't. Now go!"
"Alright, alright!" Darby whispered, as Katrina once again disappeared under the covers.
Humming a tune she had learned as a child, Darby strode around the bed and over to the ornate full-length mirror, admiring her reflection and straightening her crimson bonnet. She was giving the mirror a grand smile when Katrina's muffled voice came from under the covers, "Have you gone, Darby?"
Taking her gaze away from the reflection, Darby made her way to the side of the bed parallel to the French doors that opened into an airy balcony overlooking the side yard. Leaning over the railing, and the fresh snow blowing in her face, she released a joyous sigh, her breath forming into a frost. She then cast her eyes to the grounds, and had to place her gloved palms on the railing to keep from tumbling over. For through the veils of immaculate snow, she could see none other than Spot Conlon scaling the black wrought-iron fence that isolated the Rockwell estate from the sidewalk out front.
Her perfectly red-lacquered lips fell open. "What in Christ's sake does he think he is doing?"
Katrina immediately threw back the covers, her green eyes glinting and hell fire hair awry. "Go!" she hissed.
Darby quickly turned over her shoulder, unable to suppress the smile from forming on her lips, her eyes glittering with anticipation. "Yes, Kat, yes! I love you! Good."
Alas, Darby's words quickly were murdered before they reached the air. Her wide eyes locked onto Katrina's, the same mask of utter fear being reciprocated on the Irish girl's face. Darby felt her stomach immediately lodge itself into her throat.
Outside the closed bedroom door, there was the clicking of shoes on the gleaming hardwood floors of the hallway and the sound of muffled voices.
"I do hope that I am not causing any trouble, Mrs. Rockwell."
"Oh, don't be silly, David! I'm sure Darby is just dying to see you! She is so very ill and I fancy that your voice will make her feel all the better. Just a warning, dear, don't get too close! We don't want the both of you to catch ill!"
Katrina's jade eyes were bulging from her skull. "David!" she mouthed.
Darby could feel the marvelous anxiety slithering throughout her. "Mother!" she cried soundlessly.
Both girls' gazes snapped to the door as the knob turned and the door slowly started to creak open.
"Are you sure, Mrs. Rockwell? I would love to see Darby-but is she well enough to see me?" David's voice floated into the room, thickly coated in false concern.
"Oh, don't be silly David! It's a pity she couldn't come to the party tonight, but just parley to her and I'm sure she will feel so much more well!" Mrs. Rockwell's hand was on the slightly ajar door, her voice high and girlish.
Darby and Katrina's eyes once again interlocked. Kat was not deathly pale under her mass of red hair.
Darby reckoned she was suffocating. She stepped forward, yet spun about and dove onto the balcony once more. Spot had succeeded in scaling the fence and was to the other side. He let go and fell cleanly on his feet in the thick snow.
"Oh, CHRIST!" she hissed under her breath, the panic starting to fill her brain. Her mother could not see him, no matter what. Ava was still grotesquely flirting with David outside the room, yet Darby knew that the door would open at any moment.
Whirling about, her hands waving throughout the air, Darby elicited a squeak when she heard the door begin to creak open. In one rapid motion, she slammed the French doors leading to the balcony behind her, praying that Spot Conlon wouldn't aspire to any clever notions like throwing pebbles at the windows to gain her attention. Bent at the waist, she sped across the room, throwing herself behind the opening door, just as Katrina slammed her back on the bed, throwing the covers over her head.
Darby whole body was quaking and her breathing shaky as her spacing became more confined as the door was thrown open. Through the crack, she could see her mother's back adorned in her vainglorious maroon dress.
"Well, David, not don't be too long!" Ava Rockwell playfully scolded.
There was silence for a moment, save the audible hammering of Darby's heart in her chest. Then, the door suddenly began to close. She uttered a gasp and threw her palm to her mouth to stifle it.
The room was shrouded in semi-darkness. David Van Wyck stood only a few feet away from her, garbed in an incredibly expensive raven suit, staring at the heap on the bed that was Katrina. He need only turn his head to the left to find her out.
Incredibly, he only ran a hand through his polished brown hair, an arrogant smirk playing unto his lips like the light, and padded over to the bed. Darby watched in sheer awe, her breath bated in her throat, as he approached the bed placing his hand on a gleaming wooden chair that was mate to her desk. With a quick flick of the wrist, he had planted the chair on the side of the bed, a few feet of distance between the two. He slowly sank down onto it, straddling it backwards, lazily placing his elbow on the chair back, and resting his chin in his palm.
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Darby, Darby, Darby. Sick with the flu, eh?"
Katrina did not flinch a muscle under the sheets.
"Awh, c'mon, Darby girl! Your dear old Mumzy said that my voice would make you all better!" He tilted his head back and released a proud laugh. "You know that tonight was to be our betrothal? Well, last week was supposed to be our betrothal, but you just had to throw that lovely little pie in my face, didn't you?" His voice lowered a pitch. "You can be awful feisty, Darby girl, and sometimes, how can I say this? You make me fucking infuriated." He emitted another false laugh. "Yep, good old Robert and Christina were plenty mad about that whole incident, and Robert was about to call it all off-but I told him not too. Why, you may ask. Well, you see, I don't fancy you very much as a person, Darby girl. I know that Irish bitch influences you with all that feminist bullshit and perhaps that's why you're so buck wild. And of course, I could have any girl in all New York if I wanted. But, no, Darby girl, I want you. You. Why?"
Darby watched in sheer horror as David stood, knocking the chair to the floor and sat down upon the edge of the bed. He traced a finger down Katrina's spine through the covers. "I want your body," he whispered. "Yes, at first it was purely for me, for lust. But now I want to teach you a lesson, Darby girl. I want to make you feel like a dirty whore on our wedding night when you give yourself to me. I want to make you pay for making me look like an absolute fucking fool in front of all of New York's finest!"
Darby fell against the wall, her heart in her mouth. Whether she was fantastically stunned by Van Prick's revelation or in the fact he looked as though poised to throw back the covers and reveal Katrina, Darby knew she had to do something.
And on top of it all, she heard the faint clicking of some object against the French doors. She winced. Oh, Christ Almighty! Why does that newsboy have to throw those damn pebbles?
Her eyes fluttered open to see David averting his gaze from the French doors to the covers one again. This time, Darby knew that in her gut he was going to pull back the covers and see that mass of red hair and that she would never be able to rendezvous with Spot Conlon ever again.
So, she did the only imaginable thing that came to mind. Straightening, she cried in a shaky voice, "David, David, are you still in there?'
She exhaled a large sum of air when she saw David flick his gaze from the bed to the door. "Mrs. Rockwell? Is that you?"
Darby had to suppress herself for waltzing about the room in sheer rapture. Only David Van Wyck in all his utter stupidity could be duped into such a foolish ruse. "Yes, David, it is. I do fancy you should come out now. Darby does need her rest!"
David reluctantly arose from the bed, his gaze once again falling on Katrina. "All right, Mrs. Rockwell, if you think it is best."
Infuriation in disappointment manifesting itself in the chartreuse his cheeks took on, David Van Wyck stocked across the room, miraculously not even paying any heed to Darby. His hand grasped the knob and he flung the door open, Darby once more being in a claustrophobic situation.
The door clicked behind him. "Mrs. Rockwell? Are you out here, Mrs. Rockwell?"
Darby's breath finally released itself from her lungs and she sprang over to the vanity, grasping the key from the top drawer and bounding over to the door again, fitting the key in the lock, relishing in the clicking sound.
Katrina abruptly sat up, throwing the covers down. Her entire body was shaking as she quickly cupped her hands to her mouth.
Darby pushed off against the door, leaving the key in the lock. She was not going to take any chances whatsoever. She slowly stode across the room and to the French doors, Katrina's wild eyes following her.
"Do you know how close we came to being found out!" he melodic Irish accent was high pitched.
Darby disregarded Katrina and flung open the French doors, the bitter cold wind chilling her to the marrow of her bones. The doors wildly banging behind her, she walked erectly out to the edge of the balcony.
Spot Conlon stood below, his threadbare scarf whipping untamed in the wind, his arm poised backwards, his other filled with small stones.
"Will you stop with that horrid motion, you ungodly newsboy!" Darby screeched down at him.
Spot dropped his arm to his side and stared up at her. "Hello to ya, too!" he shouted back.
Darby released an openly disgusted noise, and turned around, entering the room once more and slamming the French doors behind her.
"Darby, did you here me?" Katrina shrilly asked from the bed.
Darby quickly glanced at her, placing her index and middle fingers to her temples. "What, Katrina?" she asked, trying to bridle her irritation. Katrina rose out of the bed, quickly hurrying to Darby's side. "Darby! Van Prick knows something is not right. I mean, I thought that this would work out, no problem, but, Darby, have we really looked at the consequences if your parents really did find out--"
Darby turned her head, eyes narrowed into slits to face Katrina, whose voice quickly died. "Shut-up. You are the one that is always giving me these motivational speeches. And suddenly you get cold feet and, Kat, I would give you a lecture to rival one of your finest but now there is a very attractive yet cold newsboy out there waiting for me and I shall not disappoint him! The door is lock and I highly doubt that my mother would give enough of a damn to leave the sides of her haughty guests just to break into my room at David van Wyck's snivelings that there was something the matter with poor baby Darby Girl."
Katrina took a step backwards, her eyes wide. "Wow, I think you did just beat my all time finest speech."
Darby couldn't help not suppressing a smile. "Oh, Kat, I love you, really I do. You are an utter angel for doing this and I know I could be risking my life and yours by doing this, but what is the worst that could happen? If I am caught then perhaps the Van Wycks will just be to disgusted this time to listen to David's pleas to marry me, the filthy bastard."
Katrina grinned. "Another one for Darby Rockwell."
Darby rolled her eyes. "Oh, come now, Kat. He's waiting. And I shan't tarry any longer."
Katrina sighed, falling back onto the goose-down bed. "You're quite right, Darby. I shall stay here like the utter angel I am until you return, and then you must tell me the explicit details!"
Darby could feel the intense heat her face took on. "Oh, Kat, do be quiet. I shall be back. Do try to be good, will you?"
Katrina raised an eyebrow as she settled into the voluptuous bedding, her green eyes glittering. "Do go to hell, Darby, will you?"
Darby shook her head, her blonde spirals bounding about. "Perhaps I will, Kat. I do not know where he is taking me."
Without another word, Darby turned around and strode once again to the French doors, pulling them open, allowing the pristine snow to stain her body. She made her way over to the balcony, her satin heels clicking on the cement, and leaned over.
Spot Conlon still stood below, his breathtaking smile upon his lips, his cheeks stained red from the cold. "Well, we'se already had our introductions."
"Indeed!" Darby replied in an arrogant tone, readjusting her fantastically expensive bonnet.
Spot jammed his hands even further into his weather beaten gray jacket. "Hey, ya know, dis here kind of reminds me of sumthin!"
"Oh, really?" Darby inquired, an eyebrow raised. "And what would that be?"
Spot cocked his head, as though in a state of deep though. Suddenly, it seemed as though inspiration had been induced into him. "Ah, yeah!" he hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Da one wit da two people and da balcony. Da one by-what da hell's his name? Gregory Shakespen!"
Darby had to place a gloved hand to her mouth to stifle her hysterical laughter. "Gregory Shakespen? You don't happen to mean William Shakespeare, per chance, now would you?"
She saw that same amazing grin light up his face. "Yeah, dat's it: William Shakespeare. Read it a long time ago in a book dat Whitie hocked from da book store!"
Darby shook her head and sighed. "Newsboys."
"What ya say?" he asked, confusing filling his face.
"Nothing, nothing." And as quickly as it had retreated, her arrogance once again reappeared. She flicked her golden mass of hair over her shoulder and called in a haughty voice, "Well, you did indeed call on me, sir, so I am quite wondering how you expect me to get down!"
Spot appeared taken aback. "Git down?"
"Yes get down!" she cried. "I certainly cannot use the main entrance for my mother is throwing a grand party and."
"Use da trellis!"
Darby immediately halted, and stared down at him incredulously. "The trellis? The trellis? You want me to use the damn trellis?"
Through the falling snow, Spot shrugged simply. "Yeah, why not?"
Disgust masked her features and she stepped back, appalled. "A lady of my class cannot use a trellis--"
"Den how d'ya expect to git down?"
"What?"
"To git down. Ya said yaself ya muddah's t'rowin some hoity-toidy pahty. Climb halfway down and den jump da rest. I'll catch ya!"" Darby regarded him with utter disbelief. "Climb the trellis-jump down? Sir!"
"Ah, stop yer bitchin' and jist do it! I'se cold!"
Darby stepped back, astonished. She was prepared to release another string of protests, when she decided to cave and begrudgingly stepped towards the balcony edge, peering down. Her marvelous fear of heights was creeping up on her psyche. "Uh, ahem, it sure is a long way down--"
His steely eyes glimmered. "Trust me. I promise dat I'll catch ya."
She deeply swallowed. "Only-only if you promise."
His smile glittered back at her through the falling snow. "I'se already did."
Darby elicited a groan and raised her eyed skyward, marking the symbol of the cross across her chest. "Dear God, save my soul."
With a prayer and bated breath, Darby reluctantly placed one leg over the marble balcony, followed by the other. Now standing on the edge, grabbing onto the thick railing for dear life, she peered down at Spot, who stood with his hands raised, coaxing her to climb down.
Trying desperately to keep focus, she shimmied over to the trellis where her mother's delicate blood red roses grew in the summer. She breathed a sigh of relief when she had one foot on the trellis. Alas, as she was placing her second foot on the trellis, her fantastically expensive heel slipped on the ice that had so helpfully collected, and she felt herself slip. She released a cry and desperately tried to latch onto the trellis or gain some footing, yet she felt herself tumbling through the air with a scream.
Yet, instead of crashing into the blisteringly cold drifts of snow, she fell into a set of strong arms, the wind being vacuumed from her lungs and slithering out her trachea. Her eyes quickly fluttered open to find Spot Conlon peering down at her with wide blue eyes, his dirty blonde hair blowing about in the wind, his cheeks and tip of nose bright red.
He could only stare down at her, absolutely stunned and breathless. Darby, still shaking, managed to find her breath again. "Thanks for keeping you promise," she said, with a dash of ironic humor.
Spot emitted a forced laugh, releasing his arm from under her legs. Yet her posture was still quivering and she fell into him.
Trudging over the drifts of snow, they somehow slunk through the gates and to the sidewalk. A cold draft pierced the air, tossing Darby's flaxen curls about. She stuffed her hands even further into her rabbit fur muffler and leaned more into Spot, as his arm grew tighter about her.
She quickly looked back at her father's grand mansion, ablaze with a fire in the cold night and veils of snow.
Darby suddenly felt a peculiar sense of liberation. She had made it. Here she was, outside the gates with the newsboy and Van Prick was inside with all the pinchbeck socialites of New York.
A smile danced at her lips, yet faded as a another though occurred to her. "Sir?"
"Uh-huh?" he asked, trying to settle into his threadbare jacket as much as possible.
"Where are we going?"
Spot erupted into laughter, his grip tightening on Darby.
"It's not to a pub, is it?" she cautiously asked.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the laughter. "Nah, Darby, its much bettah dan dat."
Darby released a groan and placed a gloved hand to her forehead as she allowed Spot Conlon to lead her off Main and to an unknown destination.