CHAPTER TEN
Early that morning, the Rockwell's immaculate, snow laded walk was stark with violent hues.
It was Sunday and that meant it was the time for the ever-so wonderful brunch would be occurring. It was an endeavor, of course, that Darby despised with an utmost passion: returning home from a long and quite boring ceremony conducted in Latin at church, all of New York's finest in their bright garments. Everyone would sit around the table eating enormous amounts of food (not quite breakfast, not quite lunch) and stuffing themselves like turkeys. Then the men would then retire to the parlor which would be filled with cigar smoke and clinking glasses of brandy in a matter of moments, where they would congratulate themselves on their spectacular amount of capital and discuss how the economy was going to hell in a hand basket. The ladies would remain at the table, trading shallow gossip and of course raising their thin noses at the "new money." And the children would reside in Darby's room, all impossibly narcissistic, conceited girls with vain principles and nothing better to do than laugh flirtatiously when ever Van Prick would peek his head in, causing Darby to groan.
Now, of course, Darby could hear the audible voices radiating from the front lawn. She sighed as she reclined more into the reassuring warmth of her bed. Her doltish mother had fancied the hangover just a case of the Spanish Influenza.
At least it had gotten her out of church, where most of the time she bowed her head and closed her eyes and nodded off, avidly claiming afterwards that she was in sincere state of prayer, causing her parents to coo. Perhaps she could also manage to squirm her way out of the brunch ordeal, also. Mrs. Marks had been to her bedside every other minute, carrying trays upon trays of exquisite food, Darby turning her head away for she still could not look at the provisions without having an acidly flavor start to rise in her throat. And, perhaps, just perhaps, the followers of David Van Wyck and their vapid discussions would be barred from her room until the following week.
The voices were getting louder. A high female voice could be heard, "Oh, DAVID, will you STOP it?"
A shudder tangoed its way down Darby's spine. Most likely, that high, nasal voice belonged to Airabella Arnside, the most nauseating creature ever to be so blessed with life on this planet. She of course was madly infatuated with David Van Wyck and would not bat an eyelash in second thought about marrying him that very day and exactly nine months to the day later bearing his child.
Just that sheer thought was enough to make almost Darby hurl yet again. She must have lay there for what seemed like decades, listening to the whole band whine pettily like a pack of underfed dogs when she heard the audible yells.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA!"
Her ears perked and her breath bated.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! POLITICIAN'S DAUGHTAH SEEN AFTAH DARHK WIT SCOUNDREL!"
Darby immediately sat in bed, her bright hair falling to one side. A smile crept over her lips and she elicited a screech. She leapt from the bed and hurled herself out of the bedroom, nearly toppling over Mrs. Marks who stood in the doorframe, carrying a sterling silver tray of appetizers.
"Where are you going, Miss?" the plump cook called down to Darby, as she thundered down the stairs.
Darby halted her hair and eyes wild. "It is a glorious day, it is not Mrs. Marks?"
"But you're not going out in just that, Miss, are you? It's freezing--- out." She stopped and sighed for Darby had already dashed through the parlor and the main door was wide open, the cold winds entering the mansion. "Crazy girl," she muttered under her breath, as she set down the gleaming tray and entered the room, intent of making the bed.
The snow had ceased, alas, that did not mean that the walk was not searing. Darby flung herself out the front door, the blistering coldness immediately hitting the marrow of her bones and causing most of the party to suppress their conversations mid sentence and regard her as though she had gone clinically insane.
Yes, the whole group was indeed there and looking quite appalled. There was Ava and John Rockwell, arms linked, managing to look opulent and furious and disgusted all in one expression. George Frost, John Rockwell's law associate, his prissy wife Paulette, and their vain daughter, Sadey brought up the rear, quite sharing in the Rockwell's reactions. There also was Robert and Christina Van Wyck, Richard and Juliet Arnside, Ava's sister Rosanna and husband Nathaniel Delecroise and their daughter Gracie. And of course, there was David and Airabella, her perfectly gloved hand on the breast of his charcoal gray tweed overcoat.
Yet, Darby saw none of them. Her gaze fell past them, beyond them and to the wrought iron gates resembling great ebony citadels, for Spot Conlon stood behind them, motionless, a stack of newspapers resting on his left shoulder.
Her pulse began to race with a vengeance until she thought her veins would explode. Oh, if only she could to the gates and reach out to him-
"Darby, what on earth are you doing?"
Darby's eyes immediately snapped to her mother. "What, mother?"
Ava Rockwell subtly turned over her shoulder, smiling apologetically to her guests. "What are you doing, dear?" Her voice was low with a hint of carefully bridled fury as she neared her daughter.
"What am I doing, mother?" Darby inquired with a note of befuddlement, for she was too involved in regarding Spot that she did not take heed of her mother.
Ava released a sigh and turned to the party, offering them a repentant smile. "Now, dear, you know that you are ill! You shouldn't be out here in this dreadful weather!" She forced a laugh and a smile. "Honestly, this dreadful Spanish Influenza can invoke you to do such silly things!"
This caused Dr. and Mrs. Delecroise to exchange raised eyebrows, the latter asking in a hushed voice, "Spanish Influenza?" The doctor merely nodded his head and straightened and gritted under his teeth, "Never you mind, Rosanna, you know your sister and her wild flights of fancy."
Darby, of course, did not hear her mother's prattling for her eyes were trained on Spot Conlon's orbs of jade fire. With a simple shrug, she was out of her mother's grasp and padding down the steps, past the guests. She was nearing Spot and his smile against his wind-whipped skin was glowing. It was like a marvelous dream, the dreary weather and the dreary guests were evicted and only she and Spot remained. And then she felt the strong arm rap itself about her torso and the dream shattered into a million shards and reality brutally hit her. She shook her head back to consciousness. She averted her wide blue eyes up. David Van Wyck stood before her, his burnt umber eyes glaring with arrogance. The blistering coldness suddenly washed over her and she released a choke and involuntarily fell into him.
"Oh, Darby girl, is it that cold?" he asked with exaggerated concern.
Darby stammered an incoherent reply and turned her eyes over his shoulder to see that Spot's smile had dropped and in his eyes-possibly an illusion of the snow-heavy question marks hung. She released another small sigh, dropping her gaze, the chill searing against her feet.
David released a hearty laugh. "Oh, Darby, you're sick! Why are you out in this weather!" With a flourish, he had placed his hands about her and she was suddenly lifted into the air in his arms.
Murmurs of sickening coos reverberated throughout the brunch guests and Airabella Arnside elicited a snort, tossing her pert little nose into the air.
Darby struggled out of his grasp, the rough tweed digging into her bare skin.
Another laugh rippled from David. "Oh, Darby, stay still, we must get you inside!"
"No!" Darby yelled, her flashing eyes meeting his.
David arched an eyebrow. "Come now, Darby. Be a good lass, won't you, and stop your fussing. I know that dreadful Spanish Influenza is ravaging your body, making you act like quite the little mad hatter."
Darby's breath lodged in her throat and she ceased her struggles and fell lax in his grip, her skin paling. It was in the way he had phrased his statement that had struck a chord of fear in her heart; it was as though he knew the truth of last night.
He nodded, his eyes proud. "That's a good girl, now let's get you inside."
She emitted a helpless noise, throwing her gaze over his shoulder. Spot Conlon stood behind those wrought-iron gates, and even at that distance, she could read the confusion and injury in his eyes.
Oh, how Darby Rockwell wished she could cup her hands over her mouth and shout, "It's not true! It's not true! I think you are wonderful and what you see isn't what it seems!"
Yet, she didn't. She only stared with helpless and futile eyes at him. She knew she adored him, but how in the hell did he expect her to unseat all the morals she had ever been taught, and scream at this newsboy in front of all New York's finest that she had dreamt of him and had a longing desire to feel the warmth of his embrace? But she just couldn't. Her mother's vicious discriminations and the haughty theories of the elite had been the keystone of her refined ways. Deep down in the abyss of her soul, she knew that she was not like them. She knew that having the most exhilarating time of her life last night with him was not a fluke. Yet, she was weak. She knew she had always been weak. She yearned to break free and run wild, yet she never could. She despised the values of the wealthy, yet she could not help but lapse into their judgmental state of speech.
Oh, if only there was some way Darby could make him understand. It was absolutely painful staring into his eyes.
She released a choke, trying desperately not to break into sobs. Though, even if she did Ava Rockwell would most likely just brush them off as some ludicrous side effect of the Spanish Influenza.
It was as though David Van Wyck knew of the inner turmoil that she was experiencing. Without raising her head, she could feel the scorch of the smugness that radiated off his smile.
Darby released another constricted sob, only raising her eyes as her father's deep bark penetrated the chilled air. "Hey, you! Newsboy! Get out of here right now! Right this minute before I alert the authorities!"
Through vision blurred by tears, Darby watched as Spot's gaze flickered from her to Mr. Rockwell and as he jumped and slowly turned.
Darby hesitated until he had disappeared behind the thick veil of newly falling snow before her hysterics here unsheathed. "NO! NO! IT'S NOT WHAT IT SEEMS! IT'S NOT WHAT IT SEEMS! DON'T GO! DON'T GO!"
Many of the women gasped at the display of vocals and many shook their heads. Ava Rockwell regrettably swished about her guests, soothing them with the response that "that dreadful Spanish Influenza is making poor Darby act outright insane" as the brunch party climbed the stairs and entered the relieving warmth of the Rockwell estate, the audible cries and shrieks of Darby still filling their ears.
***
Most likely, the brunch party had gone off without a hitch and the men were going to the parlor and the women remaining seated at the grand table and now the girls should be ascending the stairs at any moment.
Darby released a high-pitched shriek as she abruptly sat up in bed. Her angry glare fell to the door, the door that was indeed locked.
After David had so chivalrously carted the hysterical girl to her room, Ava Rockwell had waited with a smile until he had disappeared down the hallway before she turned to Darby.
Of course, Darby did not remember her mother's speech word for word, yet she retained the gist of it. Ava was deathly worried about her daughter's outbursts and thought it best that Darby skip brunch, and as an extra precaution, she was going to lock the door.
Darby had launched into screams and Ava had almost lost her temper, claiming that she didn't want Darby to hurt herself. Mrs. Rockwell had left the room, the lock sounding tenfold in Darby's ears as she carried on and threw herself against the grand wooden door.
That had occurred an hour ago. Since then, Darby had surrendered and sat on her bed, her side aching and her head pounding.
Darby exhaled and arose, padding over to the door. She pondered for a moment throwing her body against the door again, yet that passion had been a high and she suddenly felt weary.
She sighed and collapsed against the door. This had been quite an interesting day. Never in all her sixteen years on the earth had she ever reacted like-that. Her mother should be thanking her lucky stars that she had the old story of the Spanish Influenza and how it was wrecking Darby's sanity to fall back on.
Yet, perhaps Darby had gone insane.
A small smile danced upon her chaffed lips.
Spot Conlon. That damned Spot Conlon. What in the hell had he infected her with? Why, after one nocturnal excursion with him, was she howling and screaming about like a banshee in front of all of New York's elite?
She minutely shook her head. She didn't know. She didn't know at all.
His deep, impossibly sad eyes filled her mind. Oh, Christ. What did he think? What had been streaming through his head when he had saw David Van Prick sweep her off her feet and into his arms.
Darby released a sharp hiss and threw the back of her skull against the door. Alas, all thoughts were annihilated as she heard the faint clicking of heels against the gleaming wooden floorboards of the hallway.
"Jesus, David, I mean, really, what do you see in her?"
A stifled giggle was released.
Darby cocked a brow and placed her right ear against the door. As with the usual routine, the dear charming band of girls were coming upstairs to indulge in enlightened chatter.
"No, but I mean, really, tell me, Davey, what you see in her?" Airabella Arnside's lordly voice pierced the air.
"Airabella, please! Do you know if she's asleep yet or not?" Gracie Delecroise. What a charming cousin.
Airabella sniffed. "Well, I really don't care if she hears me or not! All I'm saying is that I've know the girl's been crazy for years! I mean, Christ, she is always about with that Irish bitch-what's her name?"
"Katrina Van Witt?" Sadey Frost's cold voice concluded as Darby shifted her weight and desperately pressed her ear to the door more.
Airabella released a high laugh. "Oh, yes, the leprechaun! Katrina Van Witt, that's correct. Well, anyway, you hear the stories. She is always seen with those lower class ruffians--"
"Newsboys?" Gracie hopefully piped in.
"Newsboys! Right!" Airabella cried with superiority. "I mean, I do not see why you would want to touch one of the damn things with a ten foot pole, but if you HAVE to see them then at least to it in private!"
The audience broke up into laughter, just causing Airabella to continue.
"I pity Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell, actually. Having such a burden as she! But you know the whole family is tarnished. My mother told me that Mrs. Rockwell is a heavy drinker--"
"NO!"
"Yes! I would be, too, having kin like Darby Rockwell. And John Rockwell, well, let's just say that Daddy told me his business isn't doing to well--"
"NO!"
"Yes! Some other law firm sprouted up in New York and it attracting all sorts of business. Made Rockwell desperately afraid, so--" Her voice dropped an octave. "-so he got involved with the mob!"
"NO!"
Darby recoiled from the door in a state of shock. Her brain whirled. The mob? John Rockwell, all-powerful attorney, involved with the MOB? She suddenly felt her trachea constrict wonderfully, yet she immediately pressed her ear back to the door.
"-that pie! Davey, why did you not just call off the engagement then? I mean the only reason that you must be betrothed to her is because her daddy is so damned wealthy! I pity you, Davey, really I do! Having to go about life, knowing one day you will have to settle down forever with that-that- impossible bitch! Davey, you could have ANY girl you wanted, just tell me, why Darby Rockwell?"
Darby's could feel her pulse pounding terrifically in her head and her breath bate as she waited for the reply to break the silence.
"Well," David slowly began. "It's not all that miserable. Once trained she will be a hard worker-a hard worker both inside and outside the bedroom."
"EWH!" the girls' playfully appalled gasps sounded.
Darby felt an immense wave of nausea flood her being as David lowered the timbre of his voice. "Well, this was supposed to be a little secret, but at the next dinner party that Ava throws?"
"Uh-huh?" Gracie queried, as though on edge.
"It will be a celebration of our betrothal."
"But-but what if she doesn't concede?"
David's fantastically arrogant laughter whittled its way through the door and into Darby's heart, chilling it. "She will be oppressed. She will have to. No apple pies will be served and she will accept the ring. My father doesn't give a fuck about the girl or the Rockwells, just their splendid amount of capital!"
Airabella released a high in pitch laugh. "Oh, David, you are so evil!"
David exaggeratedly sighed. "Oh, do stop, Miss Arnside, you are breaking my heart!"
Airabella elicited a giggle, yet stopped as she head Darby's audible gasp from the opposite side of the door.
"Air--"
"Shhh!" Airabella sharply hissed. "I thought you said she was asleep."
David replied. "You said you didn't care--"
Darby reclined back and sat cross-legged. She began a forward and backward leaning motion with her upper body. Concede? Dinner party? Oppressed? Next dinner party? It was as though she were in a trace.
Oh, Christ, where was that rat poison?
"David, do you know how to open the door?" Airabella's hideously low voice seeped through the door.
"Yes, last night her mother allowed me egress into her room and the bloody old bitch forgot to take the key out. I have it."
"Well then open the door!"
Darby sat in sheer stunned horror as she heard the fitting of the key into the lock, as the lock clicked, as the knob turned, and as the door slowly opened-
David stood before them all, his hair as gleaming as his smile. "Darby!" he cried, regarding her on the plush carpeting. "What on earth are you doing?"
It took a few moments for the sound to be transferred to Darby's brain. She finally averted her gaze skyward to him, her eyes burning with a passionate hate. "You. You. You."
David leaned back, his smile growing to enhance his glittering white teeth. "Yes, Darby, it is me."
Darby shook her head, her eyes narrowed into slits. "You. You atrocious bastard!" she screeched, suddenly springing to her feet, eliciting gasps from the group.
With the bat of an eye, she had pounced on David Van Wyck, taking in the look of sheer surprise on his face as she threw him backward. The girls picked up the hems of their opulent dresses and uttered screams as they jumped back, allowing just enough space for David to slam painfully to the hardwood floor on his back.
"I would never be wed to you, you disgusting pig!" Darby howled as she clawed in a blind fury at him.
"Get off ME!" David bellowed, grasping a handful of her wild flaxen hair and bringing his arm up, jerking her head up so she released a cry.
David was at least keeping Darby at bay when a few moments later furious clicking and gasps and shouts abounded throughout the air.
"Oh, no, Darby, no! What are you doing!" Ava Rockwell shrieked, dashing down the hallway and over to her hysterical daughter.
In all, it took three of the brunch guests to hoist the unrelenting Darby off of David, while the rest helped the latter from the ground, dusting him off and hovering about him.
Two strong sets of arms were twisted about Darby as she felt herself being forcefully being dragged back to her room.
"Oh, my! The poor child has lost it!"
"That dreadful influenza!"
"I AM NOT SICK!" Darby screeched, desperately writhing out of the death grips.
"Oh, John, call the doctor! Out baby's sick!" Ava sobbed through a mountain of borrowed handkerchiefs.
Darby uttered a scream, and gave one last effort to break free. Not just to break free physically, but mentally as well. To be free and run to Spot and tell him that it had all been a simple mistake. It was a grand struggle, alas, she finally fell lax, weary and exhausted and allowed herself to be dragged to her room.
As she was being shoved through the door, she quickly craned her head over her shoulder to see David Van Wyck staring at her with smug eyes. "I know, Darby. I know!"
It didn't take a sleuth as utterly genius as Sherlock Holmes to connect the dots.
"NO!" Darby screamed, yet the white door slammed shut, stifling her cries.
Early that morning, the Rockwell's immaculate, snow laded walk was stark with violent hues.
It was Sunday and that meant it was the time for the ever-so wonderful brunch would be occurring. It was an endeavor, of course, that Darby despised with an utmost passion: returning home from a long and quite boring ceremony conducted in Latin at church, all of New York's finest in their bright garments. Everyone would sit around the table eating enormous amounts of food (not quite breakfast, not quite lunch) and stuffing themselves like turkeys. Then the men would then retire to the parlor which would be filled with cigar smoke and clinking glasses of brandy in a matter of moments, where they would congratulate themselves on their spectacular amount of capital and discuss how the economy was going to hell in a hand basket. The ladies would remain at the table, trading shallow gossip and of course raising their thin noses at the "new money." And the children would reside in Darby's room, all impossibly narcissistic, conceited girls with vain principles and nothing better to do than laugh flirtatiously when ever Van Prick would peek his head in, causing Darby to groan.
Now, of course, Darby could hear the audible voices radiating from the front lawn. She sighed as she reclined more into the reassuring warmth of her bed. Her doltish mother had fancied the hangover just a case of the Spanish Influenza.
At least it had gotten her out of church, where most of the time she bowed her head and closed her eyes and nodded off, avidly claiming afterwards that she was in sincere state of prayer, causing her parents to coo. Perhaps she could also manage to squirm her way out of the brunch ordeal, also. Mrs. Marks had been to her bedside every other minute, carrying trays upon trays of exquisite food, Darby turning her head away for she still could not look at the provisions without having an acidly flavor start to rise in her throat. And, perhaps, just perhaps, the followers of David Van Wyck and their vapid discussions would be barred from her room until the following week.
The voices were getting louder. A high female voice could be heard, "Oh, DAVID, will you STOP it?"
A shudder tangoed its way down Darby's spine. Most likely, that high, nasal voice belonged to Airabella Arnside, the most nauseating creature ever to be so blessed with life on this planet. She of course was madly infatuated with David Van Wyck and would not bat an eyelash in second thought about marrying him that very day and exactly nine months to the day later bearing his child.
Just that sheer thought was enough to make almost Darby hurl yet again. She must have lay there for what seemed like decades, listening to the whole band whine pettily like a pack of underfed dogs when she heard the audible yells.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA!"
Her ears perked and her breath bated.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! EXTRA! POLITICIAN'S DAUGHTAH SEEN AFTAH DARHK WIT SCOUNDREL!"
Darby immediately sat in bed, her bright hair falling to one side. A smile crept over her lips and she elicited a screech. She leapt from the bed and hurled herself out of the bedroom, nearly toppling over Mrs. Marks who stood in the doorframe, carrying a sterling silver tray of appetizers.
"Where are you going, Miss?" the plump cook called down to Darby, as she thundered down the stairs.
Darby halted her hair and eyes wild. "It is a glorious day, it is not Mrs. Marks?"
"But you're not going out in just that, Miss, are you? It's freezing--- out." She stopped and sighed for Darby had already dashed through the parlor and the main door was wide open, the cold winds entering the mansion. "Crazy girl," she muttered under her breath, as she set down the gleaming tray and entered the room, intent of making the bed.
The snow had ceased, alas, that did not mean that the walk was not searing. Darby flung herself out the front door, the blistering coldness immediately hitting the marrow of her bones and causing most of the party to suppress their conversations mid sentence and regard her as though she had gone clinically insane.
Yes, the whole group was indeed there and looking quite appalled. There was Ava and John Rockwell, arms linked, managing to look opulent and furious and disgusted all in one expression. George Frost, John Rockwell's law associate, his prissy wife Paulette, and their vain daughter, Sadey brought up the rear, quite sharing in the Rockwell's reactions. There also was Robert and Christina Van Wyck, Richard and Juliet Arnside, Ava's sister Rosanna and husband Nathaniel Delecroise and their daughter Gracie. And of course, there was David and Airabella, her perfectly gloved hand on the breast of his charcoal gray tweed overcoat.
Yet, Darby saw none of them. Her gaze fell past them, beyond them and to the wrought iron gates resembling great ebony citadels, for Spot Conlon stood behind them, motionless, a stack of newspapers resting on his left shoulder.
Her pulse began to race with a vengeance until she thought her veins would explode. Oh, if only she could to the gates and reach out to him-
"Darby, what on earth are you doing?"
Darby's eyes immediately snapped to her mother. "What, mother?"
Ava Rockwell subtly turned over her shoulder, smiling apologetically to her guests. "What are you doing, dear?" Her voice was low with a hint of carefully bridled fury as she neared her daughter.
"What am I doing, mother?" Darby inquired with a note of befuddlement, for she was too involved in regarding Spot that she did not take heed of her mother.
Ava released a sigh and turned to the party, offering them a repentant smile. "Now, dear, you know that you are ill! You shouldn't be out here in this dreadful weather!" She forced a laugh and a smile. "Honestly, this dreadful Spanish Influenza can invoke you to do such silly things!"
This caused Dr. and Mrs. Delecroise to exchange raised eyebrows, the latter asking in a hushed voice, "Spanish Influenza?" The doctor merely nodded his head and straightened and gritted under his teeth, "Never you mind, Rosanna, you know your sister and her wild flights of fancy."
Darby, of course, did not hear her mother's prattling for her eyes were trained on Spot Conlon's orbs of jade fire. With a simple shrug, she was out of her mother's grasp and padding down the steps, past the guests. She was nearing Spot and his smile against his wind-whipped skin was glowing. It was like a marvelous dream, the dreary weather and the dreary guests were evicted and only she and Spot remained. And then she felt the strong arm rap itself about her torso and the dream shattered into a million shards and reality brutally hit her. She shook her head back to consciousness. She averted her wide blue eyes up. David Van Wyck stood before her, his burnt umber eyes glaring with arrogance. The blistering coldness suddenly washed over her and she released a choke and involuntarily fell into him.
"Oh, Darby girl, is it that cold?" he asked with exaggerated concern.
Darby stammered an incoherent reply and turned her eyes over his shoulder to see that Spot's smile had dropped and in his eyes-possibly an illusion of the snow-heavy question marks hung. She released another small sigh, dropping her gaze, the chill searing against her feet.
David released a hearty laugh. "Oh, Darby, you're sick! Why are you out in this weather!" With a flourish, he had placed his hands about her and she was suddenly lifted into the air in his arms.
Murmurs of sickening coos reverberated throughout the brunch guests and Airabella Arnside elicited a snort, tossing her pert little nose into the air.
Darby struggled out of his grasp, the rough tweed digging into her bare skin.
Another laugh rippled from David. "Oh, Darby, stay still, we must get you inside!"
"No!" Darby yelled, her flashing eyes meeting his.
David arched an eyebrow. "Come now, Darby. Be a good lass, won't you, and stop your fussing. I know that dreadful Spanish Influenza is ravaging your body, making you act like quite the little mad hatter."
Darby's breath lodged in her throat and she ceased her struggles and fell lax in his grip, her skin paling. It was in the way he had phrased his statement that had struck a chord of fear in her heart; it was as though he knew the truth of last night.
He nodded, his eyes proud. "That's a good girl, now let's get you inside."
She emitted a helpless noise, throwing her gaze over his shoulder. Spot Conlon stood behind those wrought-iron gates, and even at that distance, she could read the confusion and injury in his eyes.
Oh, how Darby Rockwell wished she could cup her hands over her mouth and shout, "It's not true! It's not true! I think you are wonderful and what you see isn't what it seems!"
Yet, she didn't. She only stared with helpless and futile eyes at him. She knew she adored him, but how in the hell did he expect her to unseat all the morals she had ever been taught, and scream at this newsboy in front of all New York's finest that she had dreamt of him and had a longing desire to feel the warmth of his embrace? But she just couldn't. Her mother's vicious discriminations and the haughty theories of the elite had been the keystone of her refined ways. Deep down in the abyss of her soul, she knew that she was not like them. She knew that having the most exhilarating time of her life last night with him was not a fluke. Yet, she was weak. She knew she had always been weak. She yearned to break free and run wild, yet she never could. She despised the values of the wealthy, yet she could not help but lapse into their judgmental state of speech.
Oh, if only there was some way Darby could make him understand. It was absolutely painful staring into his eyes.
She released a choke, trying desperately not to break into sobs. Though, even if she did Ava Rockwell would most likely just brush them off as some ludicrous side effect of the Spanish Influenza.
It was as though David Van Wyck knew of the inner turmoil that she was experiencing. Without raising her head, she could feel the scorch of the smugness that radiated off his smile.
Darby released another constricted sob, only raising her eyes as her father's deep bark penetrated the chilled air. "Hey, you! Newsboy! Get out of here right now! Right this minute before I alert the authorities!"
Through vision blurred by tears, Darby watched as Spot's gaze flickered from her to Mr. Rockwell and as he jumped and slowly turned.
Darby hesitated until he had disappeared behind the thick veil of newly falling snow before her hysterics here unsheathed. "NO! NO! IT'S NOT WHAT IT SEEMS! IT'S NOT WHAT IT SEEMS! DON'T GO! DON'T GO!"
Many of the women gasped at the display of vocals and many shook their heads. Ava Rockwell regrettably swished about her guests, soothing them with the response that "that dreadful Spanish Influenza is making poor Darby act outright insane" as the brunch party climbed the stairs and entered the relieving warmth of the Rockwell estate, the audible cries and shrieks of Darby still filling their ears.
***
Most likely, the brunch party had gone off without a hitch and the men were going to the parlor and the women remaining seated at the grand table and now the girls should be ascending the stairs at any moment.
Darby released a high-pitched shriek as she abruptly sat up in bed. Her angry glare fell to the door, the door that was indeed locked.
After David had so chivalrously carted the hysterical girl to her room, Ava Rockwell had waited with a smile until he had disappeared down the hallway before she turned to Darby.
Of course, Darby did not remember her mother's speech word for word, yet she retained the gist of it. Ava was deathly worried about her daughter's outbursts and thought it best that Darby skip brunch, and as an extra precaution, she was going to lock the door.
Darby had launched into screams and Ava had almost lost her temper, claiming that she didn't want Darby to hurt herself. Mrs. Rockwell had left the room, the lock sounding tenfold in Darby's ears as she carried on and threw herself against the grand wooden door.
That had occurred an hour ago. Since then, Darby had surrendered and sat on her bed, her side aching and her head pounding.
Darby exhaled and arose, padding over to the door. She pondered for a moment throwing her body against the door again, yet that passion had been a high and she suddenly felt weary.
She sighed and collapsed against the door. This had been quite an interesting day. Never in all her sixteen years on the earth had she ever reacted like-that. Her mother should be thanking her lucky stars that she had the old story of the Spanish Influenza and how it was wrecking Darby's sanity to fall back on.
Yet, perhaps Darby had gone insane.
A small smile danced upon her chaffed lips.
Spot Conlon. That damned Spot Conlon. What in the hell had he infected her with? Why, after one nocturnal excursion with him, was she howling and screaming about like a banshee in front of all of New York's elite?
She minutely shook her head. She didn't know. She didn't know at all.
His deep, impossibly sad eyes filled her mind. Oh, Christ. What did he think? What had been streaming through his head when he had saw David Van Prick sweep her off her feet and into his arms.
Darby released a sharp hiss and threw the back of her skull against the door. Alas, all thoughts were annihilated as she heard the faint clicking of heels against the gleaming wooden floorboards of the hallway.
"Jesus, David, I mean, really, what do you see in her?"
A stifled giggle was released.
Darby cocked a brow and placed her right ear against the door. As with the usual routine, the dear charming band of girls were coming upstairs to indulge in enlightened chatter.
"No, but I mean, really, tell me, Davey, what you see in her?" Airabella Arnside's lordly voice pierced the air.
"Airabella, please! Do you know if she's asleep yet or not?" Gracie Delecroise. What a charming cousin.
Airabella sniffed. "Well, I really don't care if she hears me or not! All I'm saying is that I've know the girl's been crazy for years! I mean, Christ, she is always about with that Irish bitch-what's her name?"
"Katrina Van Witt?" Sadey Frost's cold voice concluded as Darby shifted her weight and desperately pressed her ear to the door more.
Airabella released a high laugh. "Oh, yes, the leprechaun! Katrina Van Witt, that's correct. Well, anyway, you hear the stories. She is always seen with those lower class ruffians--"
"Newsboys?" Gracie hopefully piped in.
"Newsboys! Right!" Airabella cried with superiority. "I mean, I do not see why you would want to touch one of the damn things with a ten foot pole, but if you HAVE to see them then at least to it in private!"
The audience broke up into laughter, just causing Airabella to continue.
"I pity Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell, actually. Having such a burden as she! But you know the whole family is tarnished. My mother told me that Mrs. Rockwell is a heavy drinker--"
"NO!"
"Yes! I would be, too, having kin like Darby Rockwell. And John Rockwell, well, let's just say that Daddy told me his business isn't doing to well--"
"NO!"
"Yes! Some other law firm sprouted up in New York and it attracting all sorts of business. Made Rockwell desperately afraid, so--" Her voice dropped an octave. "-so he got involved with the mob!"
"NO!"
Darby recoiled from the door in a state of shock. Her brain whirled. The mob? John Rockwell, all-powerful attorney, involved with the MOB? She suddenly felt her trachea constrict wonderfully, yet she immediately pressed her ear back to the door.
"-that pie! Davey, why did you not just call off the engagement then? I mean the only reason that you must be betrothed to her is because her daddy is so damned wealthy! I pity you, Davey, really I do! Having to go about life, knowing one day you will have to settle down forever with that-that- impossible bitch! Davey, you could have ANY girl you wanted, just tell me, why Darby Rockwell?"
Darby's could feel her pulse pounding terrifically in her head and her breath bate as she waited for the reply to break the silence.
"Well," David slowly began. "It's not all that miserable. Once trained she will be a hard worker-a hard worker both inside and outside the bedroom."
"EWH!" the girls' playfully appalled gasps sounded.
Darby felt an immense wave of nausea flood her being as David lowered the timbre of his voice. "Well, this was supposed to be a little secret, but at the next dinner party that Ava throws?"
"Uh-huh?" Gracie queried, as though on edge.
"It will be a celebration of our betrothal."
"But-but what if she doesn't concede?"
David's fantastically arrogant laughter whittled its way through the door and into Darby's heart, chilling it. "She will be oppressed. She will have to. No apple pies will be served and she will accept the ring. My father doesn't give a fuck about the girl or the Rockwells, just their splendid amount of capital!"
Airabella released a high in pitch laugh. "Oh, David, you are so evil!"
David exaggeratedly sighed. "Oh, do stop, Miss Arnside, you are breaking my heart!"
Airabella elicited a giggle, yet stopped as she head Darby's audible gasp from the opposite side of the door.
"Air--"
"Shhh!" Airabella sharply hissed. "I thought you said she was asleep."
David replied. "You said you didn't care--"
Darby reclined back and sat cross-legged. She began a forward and backward leaning motion with her upper body. Concede? Dinner party? Oppressed? Next dinner party? It was as though she were in a trace.
Oh, Christ, where was that rat poison?
"David, do you know how to open the door?" Airabella's hideously low voice seeped through the door.
"Yes, last night her mother allowed me egress into her room and the bloody old bitch forgot to take the key out. I have it."
"Well then open the door!"
Darby sat in sheer stunned horror as she heard the fitting of the key into the lock, as the lock clicked, as the knob turned, and as the door slowly opened-
David stood before them all, his hair as gleaming as his smile. "Darby!" he cried, regarding her on the plush carpeting. "What on earth are you doing?"
It took a few moments for the sound to be transferred to Darby's brain. She finally averted her gaze skyward to him, her eyes burning with a passionate hate. "You. You. You."
David leaned back, his smile growing to enhance his glittering white teeth. "Yes, Darby, it is me."
Darby shook her head, her eyes narrowed into slits. "You. You atrocious bastard!" she screeched, suddenly springing to her feet, eliciting gasps from the group.
With the bat of an eye, she had pounced on David Van Wyck, taking in the look of sheer surprise on his face as she threw him backward. The girls picked up the hems of their opulent dresses and uttered screams as they jumped back, allowing just enough space for David to slam painfully to the hardwood floor on his back.
"I would never be wed to you, you disgusting pig!" Darby howled as she clawed in a blind fury at him.
"Get off ME!" David bellowed, grasping a handful of her wild flaxen hair and bringing his arm up, jerking her head up so she released a cry.
David was at least keeping Darby at bay when a few moments later furious clicking and gasps and shouts abounded throughout the air.
"Oh, no, Darby, no! What are you doing!" Ava Rockwell shrieked, dashing down the hallway and over to her hysterical daughter.
In all, it took three of the brunch guests to hoist the unrelenting Darby off of David, while the rest helped the latter from the ground, dusting him off and hovering about him.
Two strong sets of arms were twisted about Darby as she felt herself being forcefully being dragged back to her room.
"Oh, my! The poor child has lost it!"
"That dreadful influenza!"
"I AM NOT SICK!" Darby screeched, desperately writhing out of the death grips.
"Oh, John, call the doctor! Out baby's sick!" Ava sobbed through a mountain of borrowed handkerchiefs.
Darby uttered a scream, and gave one last effort to break free. Not just to break free physically, but mentally as well. To be free and run to Spot and tell him that it had all been a simple mistake. It was a grand struggle, alas, she finally fell lax, weary and exhausted and allowed herself to be dragged to her room.
As she was being shoved through the door, she quickly craned her head over her shoulder to see David Van Wyck staring at her with smug eyes. "I know, Darby. I know!"
It didn't take a sleuth as utterly genius as Sherlock Holmes to connect the dots.
"NO!" Darby screamed, yet the white door slammed shut, stifling her cries.