Chapter Six
"My name is Perdita," she said coldly.
"The hell it is. Darla, do you know who this is?"
The small man took off his scarf and Perdita was astonished to see that he was a woman - small, blonde and pretty.
"I'm gonna take a flying guess that it's Buffy?" she said.
"This," the Irishman said proudly, ignoring her, "is Buffy."
"Buffy," Darla repeated doubtfully.
"The very same! Buffy, darlin', what's with all the 'Perdita'?"
"It's a name I'm going by," Perdita said, wondering what the hell was going on. "Who are you?"
The Irishman laughed delightedly and took off his mask. "Angel, sweetheart. Don't tell me you've forgotten?"
"Funny thing," Perdita began, wondering if Angel was really his name.
"Ah, hell, Darla, we're done for tonight. Let's take Buffy home and show her what a real highwayman can do, eh?"
"Highwayman?" Darla said.
"Well, you know. Gang or whatever. Come on."
Perdita, no clue as to what was going on, allowed him to boost her up onto his horse and clasp his arms about her, a little too familiarly, and they rode off into the darkness, William's mare following on a lead rope. No one said anything - the horses went fast over hard ground, their hooves thundering, and it wasn't until they reached the sight of a rather large mansion house that they slowed slightly.
"What do you think?" Angel asked.
"Whose is it?"
He laughed against her back. "Mine. All mine."
"And mine," Darla said, spurring her horse on a little faster.
"Ignore her," Angel said, "she gets a little territorial."
Perdita, who had been riding with Angel's solid chest behind her, his breath warm on her neck, and now his voice soft in her ear, could quite understand why.
He dismounted and helped her down outside the house, and when they went in the place was light and bright with many candles.
"Doyle," Angel yelled, and a skinny man came down the wide, ornate staircase. "Get us a bath, will you? And something to eat. And then get a bath for this lady," he kissed Perdita's hand, "my guest."
Doyle nodded and went through a small door to what Perdita guessed was the kitchen. A few seconds later a woman with dark hair came out, looked her over, and said, "Another stray, Angel?"
"She's an old friend of mine," Angel said. "Take her upstairs, give her some sleep and a bath and some clean clothes - something pretty - do her hair and whatever," he waved a hand, "and bring her down for breakfast in the morning."
She bobbed a sarcastic curtsey. "Do you have a name?" she asked.
God knows, Perdita thought, but she said, "Perdita."
"Right. Perdita, come with me."
In the farmhouse, Willow had half filled a metal tub with lukewarm water, as the effort of heating it all and lugging it upstairs was too much for her. Here in this big house, several people brought up buckets of steaming water, to which the woman - who introduced herself as Cordelia - added scented herbs and pretty soaps. She draped bits of muslin over the edges of the bath, for what purpose Perdita could only guess. Probably just to make it prettier. The bath itself had clawed feet and was made of enamel, not tin as the farmhouse bath had been. It was surrounded with candles.
"Do you need help undressing?" Cordelia asked, and Perdita shook her head.
"I can manage." She stripped off and stepped into the water, which felt really good, and Cordelia gave her some pretty soft soap to wash herself with.
"So," she said, completely unembarrassed at sitting there while Perdita bathed, "how do you know Angel?"
"Uh, we're old friends," Perdita said.
"From Carolina?"
"Uh, sure, why not."
"He never went to the Carolinas," Cordelia said. "Your name's not even Perdita, is it? Do you know him at all?"
Perdita paused in soaping her arm. "You really want to know?"
Cordelia nodded.
"I have no idea who he is. I don't remember ever meeting him. I don't remember anything at all. I have no memory older than two days. I don't even know who I am."
Cordelia looked at her for a bit, then she laughed. "Okay, all right, you don't have to tell me."
Perdita rolled her eyes.
Cordelia washed her hair then dried it with a towel and gave Perdita a lawn nightgown and a silk house robe. She took her from one extravagant room to another, where there was a big soft bed waiting, and left her for the night.
Perdita didn't mean to sleep, but she did anyway, as soon as her head touched the pillow.
"Oh, this is sodding ridiculous," William stormed. "First she nicks my clothes and my horse, and now you're tying me up?"
"Thought you enjoyed that?" Xander smirked.
"Not when it's you doing it. Your knots are sodding pathetic. Where's my gun?"
"Perdita has it."
"Fantastic. Little blonde girl with my gun and my horse and my clothes, riding around like a highwayman-"
He stopped suddenly.
"What are you ranting about?" Xander asked.
"Nothing. Just worried about the girl," William said thoughtfully. "Red," he called, and when he got no answer, rolled his eyes and said, "Willow?"
"Yes?"
"Got a pen and paper?"
"You want to write something?"
"No, I want to make a sketch," he drawled. "Yes, I want to bloody write something."
"Well, you can't. Your hands are all tied up."
They were in Giles's small house, William once more tied to a chair in the kitchen while Miss McClay edged around making lunch for them all. Giles was at church, and they planned to go out and start looking for Perdita when he came back.
"Can you write?" William asked Willow.
"Of course I can write."
"Well, then write me a note."
"To who?"
"My lawyer," William glared at her. "Just bloody write it, and get someone in the village to deliver it."
Willow frowned, but she obtained some paper from Miss McClay and sat down at the table. "What shall it say?"
William thought about it a bit, then he said, "Have you seen the Slayer?"
"That's it?"
"That's it. And sign it from me."
"What's your surname?"
"Sign it William the Bloody. With three lines underneath."
Xander made a face behind William's back, but Willow wrote it. "And where does it need to go?"
"Sunnydale House."
"Where's that?"
"Oh, about thirty miles due north. Somewhere on the coast. Send a kid along the beaches, he'll find it."
Willow exchanged a look with Xander. "Just sent it to Sunnydale House?"
"For the head of the house. It'll get there, Red. Believe me, it'll be a huge help."
"Who is the master of this house?" Xander demanded.
"Never you mind. Look, whelp, I'm doing more to find the girl than you are."
"By looking for the man who got her into all this trouble."
William just smiled. "You want to find out or not?"
Miss McClay held her hand out for the note. "I'll take it into the village, if you like."
"I was going to go," Willow said, "but I guess you'll know better who to give it to."
"W-we could go together?" Miss McClay suggested shyly.
Willow smiled delightedly. "Yes. Good idea. Together. Just let me get my shawl..."
The two girls left, and Xander leaned over the table, glaring at William.
"So," he said, as menacingly as he could.
"So," William replied, slightly nonplussed.
"Who's the master of Sunnydale House?"
"Do you think those two are interested in each other?" William asked, nodding towards the door Willow and Miss McClay had gone out.
"Interested? What do you mean?"
"I mean, kid, like you're interested in Perdita." He watched the look of horror on Xander's face. "If it was good enough for the Romans..." he said.
"That's blasphemous!"
"Yes, 'cos I care about that so much."
Xander opened his mouth to speak, but right then Giles came back in, looking weary, the house filled with the high chatter of a woman's voice behind him.
"...All I'm saying is, they say greed is a deadly sin. But, isn't greed the same as gluttony? And isn't it then greedy to have two of the same sin?"
"Greed is wanting more," Giles explained, "gluttony is taking it."
"It's still the same thing. And how can it be bad to want more? I want more money from my store. Why is that bad?"
Giles took off his gloves and hat and laid them on the table. "Alexander Harris, this is my niece, Anya Jenkins. She runs the dry goods store in the town and she has a very direct way of talking."
Anya took off her wide brimmed hat and shook out glossy curls. She gave Xander a wide smile and extended her hand.
Xander stared.
"You could take her hand," William prompted, and Anya giggled.
Xander took her hand, covered in white lace, and kissed it.
William rolled his eyes.
"Where is Miss Rosenberg?" Giles asked. "And Tara?"
"Tara?"
"Miss McClay."
"They went to deliver a note to someone. In the village."
"Platonically," William added, watching Xander for his reaction and laughing when he realised the boy had no idea what platonic meant.
"Who's this?" Anya asked with no preamble, flicking a glance at William.
"Our hostage," Xander said proudly. "He attacked us so we captured him."
"And then I escaped," William pointed out.
"And then you came back. How dumb are you?"
"I came back for her," William said. "I got more out of her than any of you."
"Yes," Giles said, polishing his glasses, "I'm not sure I needed to hear that."
In the morning Cordelia woke Perdita, gave her warm water to wash, brushed out Perdita's long hair and curled it with a hot iron. She dressed Perdita in many layers of silk and satin, ending with a beautiful gown in shades of pink, and fastened a ribbon around her neck.
"You know, you're quite pretty with all the horse dirt washed off you," she said.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Angel likes pretty girls."
"That girl Darla, is she..."
"Oh, yeah. They're always at it. You can go down to breakfast now, but they'll probably not even be out of bed yet."
Perdita felt her lip curl, but then she remembered last night with William, and blushed. She knew he'd been right that it hadn't been her first time, but did any woman have a right to enjoy it that much? Maybe she wasn't a whore from necessity. Maybe she wanted to do it.
She had a sudden urge to find a church and confess. And then she wondered if she was Catholic or not. And then she wondered if it mattered.
Cordelia took her downstairs to a pretty room where Angel and Darla sat eating breakfast. A servant poured some coffee for her and offered sweetmeats, and Perdita found she was ravenous.
"Not lost your appetite then," Angel laughed.
She shook her head.
"Good haul last night?"
She looked up questioningly.
"Did you get anything good?" Darla asked in her sweet, husky voice. "Or has it all been redistributed already?"
Oh, I got something good, Perdita thought, but she just smiled. "Did you?"
"Well," Angel took her hand and kissed her knuckles, "I got you."
Darla rolled her eyes. "I'm going to check on the girl," she said, and got up to leave.
"You have a daughter?" Perdita asked politely.
"No - no, this girl we found a few nights ago. Half dead, beaten, raped, talking complete nonsense. Can't even get a name out of her."
"Sounds familiar," Perdita muttered.
"Keeps going on about stars," Angel mused. "We're looking after her for now, but I think if she doesn't improve she'll have to go to a convent. It's the only place for her."
Perdita nodded, something ticking over in her mind. "Can I see her?"
"She's insane, darlin'."
"I know, I just - I just want to see her."
He shrugged and lifted a hand, and when Doyle came forward, said, "Take Buffy to see Drusilla."
Buffy, Perdita thought. Why does he keep calling me Buffy? Is that who I am? That's not a name. It's the sort of thing you might call a fluffy puppy or a - or a lady of ill repute. Hmm.
Doyle took her up to the first floor and into a pretty bedroom, where she found Darla and Cordelia trying to get someone to drink a cup of medicine. She was sitting in the middle of the bed, rocking, wearing a red silk housecoat, her hair loose, and Perdita shuddered, because the girl had the strangest eyes she'd ever seen. Bright blue and quite vacant, they wandered over Perdita, saw nothing of interest, and fazed back into nothing-land.
"Where did you find her?" she asked, and Darla looked up.
"About thirty miles south of here. Just wandering around in the middle of the night in a bloody nightgown." Darla pushed up the girl's sleeve to show an arm covered in bruises and gashes. "She's like this all over. Especially here," she pointed to the girl's breasts and thighs. "Burned and scratched. Someone really tortured her. I'm amazed she could stand."
"It's amazing the strength you find," Perdita said. "Darla, can I talk to you?"
The blonde woman got up and led Perdita into the next room. "Is it about Angel? 'Cos I know you two had a thing a while back, but I'm with him now."
Perdita nodded slowly. "It's about Drusilla. That's what Angel called her...?"
"The name seemed to fit."
"I found a house about thirty miles south of here where everyone had been murdered - parents and a grown-up son. There was another room that was covered in blood, girl's clothes, but there was no girl. We - I wondered where she'd gone."
"You think that might be her?"
"I think it might be."
Darla nodded and tapped her rosebud mouth with the fan dangling from her wrist. She was dressed in a silk gown with wide black and silver stripes - it might have looked ridiculous, but on her tiny body, with her pretty face, the effect was very striking.
"I'll tell Angel," she said, and went to the door to go back downstairs, but right then it opened and Doyle came in.
"Angel wants you," he said, and Darla winked.
"He always wants me."
She swayed away and followed Doyle down the stairs. Angel was standing in the big lobby, a grubby letter in his hand.
"I just got a letter from William the Bloody," he said.
"Our very own Spike?"
"None other. And you'll never guess what he wants."
"A half share in all our profits?"
Angel showed her the letter. Darla clapped her hands in delight.
"Can I go and get him?"
"Darlin', you read my mind."
"Where's she going?" Perdita asked, watching Darla gallop away in her men's clothes.
"Oh, just to see an old friend. Buffy, darlin', why don't you come and have a drink with me?"
"I'm not sure if I drink," Perdita said, which made Angel laugh. "Why do you keep calling me Buffy?"
"That's your name, isn't it?"
"Is it?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Miss Elizabeth."
"I'm confused."
He put his arm companionably around her shoulders and led her into the drawing room, lit against the gloom outside with candles everywhere. It wasn't dark yet, but the sky was overcast, threatening to rain. Darla would get soaked on her trip to see her friend.
Angel poured two drinks and downed his. "Go on," he said, "you used to like it."
She took a sip.
"Not like that, throw it back."
She did as she was told, and the whisky burned her throat.
"I used to like that?" she croaked.
"Buffy, what's the matter? You're acting like you don't know who you are."
She looked up at him.
"You don't know who you are?" Angel's eyes were wide.
"Um. Well. No. Not... as such."
"Did you fall and hit your head?"
"Possibly."
"Is that why you were saying your name is Perdita?"
"It means Lost One."
Angel just nodded in agreement. He didn't look like he'd ever read Shakespeare. "What do you remember?"
She sighed. "I woke up on a beach three nights ago. I guess it was a shipwreck - there was debris and other," she exhaled, "other bodies. I didn't find anyone alive."
"You don't remember how you got there?"
She shook her head.
Angel frowned. "There was a shipwreck three nights ago," he said. "I heard there were no survivors. But what were you doing on it?"
"I have no idea."
"Your stomping ground was Virginia."
"That's quite a long way..."
He nodded. "I'll write your mother."
"I have a mother?"
"Everyone has a mother," Angel laughed. "Let's just say yours doesn't exactly approve of me."
"You are a highwayman."
"That I am."
She paused, toying with her glass. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"How do you even know me?"
Angel downed another shot of whisky and came over, pulled her to her feet and looked down at her speculatively. He was quite a bit taller than her, his eyes deep and dark. He was a very good looking man.
"I taught you everything you know," he said. "Well, everything you knew."
"You did?" she whispered. "About what?"
"Life. Men. Sex. Highway robbery."
That's pretty much all bases covered, she thought. "Sex?"
He grinned. "Knew you'd find the important bit. Yeah." He stroked her face. "Don't you remember? We had a fine old time, you and me. You," his lips brushed her cheek, "tasted like chocolate."
Giles and Xander had gone out looking for Perdita, leaving the girls in charge of William. Xander had been reluctant to leave them, especially Anya, but he was assured by Giles that she could take care of herself.
Currently she was dozing with her head on the table, an axe in her hands.
Willow and Tara sat at the other end of the table, giggling with each other. "How about this one," Willow said, and assumed a pious expression. "'Tout est pour le mieux, dans le meilleur des mondes possibles.'"
William rolled his eyes.
"I don't know," Tara blushed, "but it sounds pretty."
"It means, All is for the best, in the best of all possible worlds," Willow said.
"Voltaire," William said. "Poncy bugger."
"You think everyone's a poncy bugger," Willow scolded.
"All the ones you're quoting are."
"All right, then, quote me someone who isn't."
He thought a bit. "Robert Burton. 'England is a paradise for women, and hell for horses. Italy a paradise for horses, hell for women.'"
Tara giggled.
"Why is England a paradise for women?" Willow asked archly. "Wasn't it the English who conquered America and repressed us all?"
"If it wasn't for the English, you'd be speaking French," William said.
"She does speak French," Tara said bravely.
"'Oh, brave new world, that has such people in't,'" William said sarcastically.
"The Tempest," Willow said smugly.
"Very appropriate," Tara agreed.
"'This happy breed of men, this little world, this precious stone set in the silver sea...'"
Willow looked suspicious.
"'This blessed plot, this earth, this Realm, this England,'" William added, cocking an eyebrow at her.
"Shakespeare was an idiot."
"Half an hour ago you said he was the only decent thing to come out of England."
"Well, he was still English."
"And that makes him evil because...."
Willow didn't get a chance to answer, because the door suddenly slammed wide open and a flurry of leaves blew in. The girls started in surprise, Anya woke up with a gasp and waved the axe vaguely at the door.
"I'll get you before you get me," said a sweet voice, and William's head snapped up.
"Darla?"
"Did we really need to tie them up?" she asked as they galloped away over the dark, rain-lashed fields.
"Payback," William said. "Besides, it was kinda fun, tying three girls together."
"Pervert."
"Like you never strip-search unnecessarily."
Darla grinned, but said nothing.
The rain was coming down hard and they were both saturated by the time they reached Angel's mansion. William untied his hair and shook his head as he walked in, catching his wet hair and slicking it back again, shrugging off his soaked leather coat and chucking it at Doyle, all in a few easy motions.
"So-" he began, then the words caught and died in his throat as he saw someone come down the stairs, slowly, with fluid steps. She was wearing a brilliant blood red dress in gleaming brocade, trimmed with lace that was black instead of the usual red. The stomacher and petticoat were also black, shining satin with intricate patterns of fine red lace. Her golden hair was piled up on her head, leaving just a few fat curls to trail over her creamy shoulders, down to her plump cleavage.
Her eyes were languid, her lips red and inviting. William could hardly breathe. Then she parted those beautiful lips.
"William."
He stared a little harder. "Perdita?"
Angel came out of the drawing room. "Spike!"
Her green eyes never moved, even as she corrected, "Buffy."
In confusion, William glanced at Angel. "Liam?"
Darla rolled her eyes. "This is bordering on ridiculous," she said, snapping her fingers in front of William's eyes. "William, this is Buffy. Perdita, this is Spike. Buffy, this is Liam."
They all blinked at her.
"Aren't nicknames fun?"
"So are you really just Darla?" Buffy asked.
Darla put her finger to her lips. "I'll never tell."