Chasing Midnight

Starke entered the room and inclined his head. “Everything is on schedule, Mr. Durant,” he said. “Shall I ask Fitzsimmons to collect Miss Chase?”

Griffin rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose you’d better. I’d rather that she showed up early than make a grand entrance in the middle of the party.”

Starke, who had been told something of Gemma’s escapade and Miss Chase’s part in it, assumed a sympathetic air. “I quite understand, sir. I deeply regret that I was not aware of Miss Durant’s plans that evening, and that I failed to hear—”

“I told you not to blame yourself, Uncle Edward. Any culpability belongs to Miss Spires, who was willing to accept a bribe from a child.” And to me, for failing to be an effective guardian. “I expect Miss Chase to spend most of her time indoors, so perhaps we can encourage the other guests to take advantage of the fine weather.”

Starke nodded and left to find Fitzsimmons. Griffin dropped by the kitchen to look in on Demetria, who was up to her elbows in tea sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres, and then went upstairs to change his clothes. He didn’t ordinarily spend a great deal of time on his appearance, at least not beyond what was required to look neat and respectable. But now he couldn’t seem to concentrate on the simplest activities. His collar refused to stay in place, his tie wouldn’t knot and his hair flew every which way no matter how carefully he brushed it.

It was all because of Allegra Chase. He couldn’t forget the way she’d stood so close to him that night…the throaty sound of her voice as she’d challenged him to speak her name…the fact that she was about to show up in the one place he would have thought safe from her and her wild ways.

Seeing her again had simply confirmed what he’d been afraid to admit even to himself: he still felt the same overwhelming desire as he had that evening in the alley. Even his anger with her hadn’t quenched his hunger. But she seemed to have changed her mind about him between their first and second meetings. Instead of fobbing him off with cynicism and prevarication, she was making an active attempt to seduce him.

And that made it all the more vital that he resist her blandishments. She had seen the worst of him; he had no desire to see the worst of her. In any case, everything she did was obviously a game to her, so he would simply refuse to play.

Committed to his fresh resolve, Griffin finished dressing and went back downstairs to read the Times and wait for Fitzsimmons and Miss Chase. Presently Gemma came down to join him, wearing the disappointing tea dress that fell so decorously to her ankles.

The limousine had still not returned when Mrs. Betancourt and her daughter, Clarice, arrived from Kings Point. Clarice was two years older than Gemma and had already made her debut; Mrs. Betancourt viewed Griffin with a predatory eye as he and Gemma ushered them into the garden and offered refreshments. There were any number of mothers who still considered Griffin fair game; he wasn’t married, he was rich, and—as far as anyone knew—he had no peculiar proclivities.

As always, Griffin was unfailingly polite, but also careful not to give the girl and her mama the least bit of hope. The musicians finally made their appearance, and Starke supervised their disposition on the walkway between the lawn and garden. One by one the other guests drove up, elegantly alighted from their vehicles and left their gifts with Brenda to be displayed on one of the tables outside. Mal walked in at half past three. Almost everyone had arrived by four, and there was still no sign of Fitzsimmons and Allegra Chase.

Griffin instructed Starke to inform him immediately upon Miss Chase’s arrival and did his brotherly duty, circulating among the guests. He asked Mrs. Dearing about her prize-winning rose garden, complimented Miss Groves on her afternoon frock, shared a mild joke with the elderly Mr. Nordstrom and had a brief discussion of polo ponies with young David Scribner. Gemma smiled and laughed and accepted birthday wishes with the poised bearing of a well-bred young lady. The women stared at her hair, but no one offered a comment on its altered appearance. The string quartet played Lehar waltzes in the background, while Starke and Brenda replenished the punch bowl and kept the trays of sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres continuously supplied with fresh delicacies.

Two hours after the party began, Starke approached Griffin with a too-blank expression on his impassive face. “Fitzsimmons has just pulled into the drive,” he said. “Shall I detain Miss Chase in the hall?”

“I’ll be right there, Starke.” Griffin smoothed his expression to match Starke’s for sheer blandness, offered some excuse to the matron with whom he was speaking and hurried back into the house. He’d passed through the summer parlor and was halfway to the vestibule when he heard her voice.

“Don’t apologize, Fitzy. I don’t mind being late, and I’m sure Mr. Durant feels the sa—” She stopped as she saw Griffin, and a grin spread across her face. “Speak of the devil.”

Griffin came to a halt, his mouth gone dry. “Miss Chase.”

She wagged her finger. “Allie, remember?”

“Allegra.” He examined her from the crown of her dark head to the high heels of her scarlet patent leather pumps. His first response was dismay at her choice of garments: an elaborately beaded, sleeveless red party frock that actually fell above the knees, rolled fleshcolored stockings, and a blazing orange bandeau embellished with an enormous aigrette. But he was horrified by his own reaction to the sight of her—the violent rhythm of his heartbeat, the almost unbearable awareness of her warm, womanly fragrance, the hungry stirring of his body…

“Cat got your tongue?” Allegra asked, her smile even wider than before. She noticed Starke and pressed a pair of small, elaborately wrapped boxes into the butler’s hands. “I hope I haven’t missed all the fun!”

Fitzsimmons came up behind her. “I’m sorry for being so late, sir,” he said to Griffin. “There was an inordinate amount of traffic—”

“And I wasn’t quite ready when Fitzy arrived at my place,” Allegra said. “Like my new dress?” She spun around, lifting the already short hem even higher. “I wore it just for you.”

Griffin went hot and cold by turns. “Miss…Allegra,” he said hoarsely, “I hope you realize that this is a young lady’s birthday party, not a—”

“Two-bit dance hall?” She strolled toward him, the fringes along her hemline swinging with every step. “Scared that my obviously bad breeding will send the old biddies and their offspring straight to the fainting couch?”

Griffin held himself very still. “I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

“I’m not offended. You invited me against your better judgment, but you did it anyway.” She walked around him, her heels clicking on the parquet floor. “I think you wanted to see me again.”

Griffin had no ready retort. After a long silence he said, “Most of the guests are outside, but Starke will see that you receive everything you might require in the summer parlor.”

Allegra stopped in front of him. “Convenient, isn’t it? The desirable guests are outside, and I have to stay indoors.”

Griffin wanted nothing more than to seize her arms and give her a good shake. “You won’t be left alone. Either I or Gemma will keep you company.”

“Ah. Now I understand.” She looped her arm through the crook of his elbow. “Takeme to this summer parlor of yours. I can’t wait to see how the other half lives.”

Together they walked through the hall and the music room to the summer parlor. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows and French doors. The guests in their airy dresses could be seen circling about the refreshment tables like flocks of gaudy butterflies. Allegra paused where the edge of the light crossed the carpet.

“Very nice,” she said, gazing about the room. “I’d expected horsehair sofas and clawfoot tables.”

“Even I have become aware that we live in the twentieth century.”

She smiled up at him. “There’s some hope for you yet.” She threw herself into an antique Stickley chair. “Well? Where’s the birthday girl?”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let her know you’re here.” He signaled to Starke, who waited in the doorway, and then stepped out through the French doors into the garden. No one who greeted him would have guessed he was less than tranquil. As soon as he informed Gemma about Allegra’s arrival, she broke off her conversation with the Pemberton boy and rushed into the house.

Griffin began circulating again, the back of his neck prickling at the thought of his sister alone with Allegra. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Hewas just about to go in and fetchGemmawhen the French doors swung open wide and Allegra sauntered out onto the garden walk.

“Ah,” she said, stretching her arms above her head, “what a beautiful day!”

Seldom had Griffin felt so astonished or so gripped with sheer terror. In his mind’s eye he saw not smooth, pale skin but blistering flesh, red as Allegra’s frock, turning sere and black in the harsh light of day. He abandoned Mrs. Higgenbotham and charged toward Allegra, ready to cover her body with his own and push her back inside the house.

Her face, cool and unmarred, turned toward him. He skidded to a halt seconds before he reached her, his legs trembling with reaction and relief.

There was nothing wrong with her—no burns on her cheeks, discolorations of her hands or peeling skin on her bare arms. She regarded him with a half smile as if to ask what the fuss was all about.

“Allegra,” he said. “What—”

“When can I open my presents, Grif?” Gemma asked, emerging from the house to take Allegra’s arm.

He stared at his sister, trying to make sense of her words. The party came crashing down around him like rotted timbers in an abandoned house, all chattering voices and screeching violins. The smells of human sweat and rank perfume overwhelmed his senses.

“Oh,” Mrs. Dearing cooed next to his ear, “is this the entertainment, Mr. Durant? Are we to have a Vaudeville show?”

It took Griffin a moment to realize that Mrs. Dearing was referring to Allegra, who examined the curious guests as a tigress might study a herd of plump, pampered deer in a royal park. “I’d be happy to give a little performance,” she said, licking her lips. “What would you like to see?”

Mrs. Dearing started, as if she hadn’t expected such a creature to speak. Her daughter, Elvira, drifted to her side, staring at Allegra with open fascination. Several of the young men began to converge around the garden walk. A group of Gemma’s friends whispered and exchanged looks of amazement and distaste.

Mrs. Higgenbotham approached with her neck extended like a goose about to snap up an insect. She raised her lorgnette to her faded blue eyes.

“Do I know you, dear?” she asked Allegra. “You seem very familiar…”

Griffin came back to himself. “Mrs. Higgenbotham,” he said, “may I present Miss Allegra Chase?”

“I do know that name,” the older woman said. “Or something very like it. It was in Huntington, wasn’t it? Yes, I do believe—”

“You must be mistaken,” Allegra interrupted. “I’ve never been out here in my life.” She made a show of admiring Mrs. Higgenbotham’s overly snug Vionnet tea gown. “What a lovely dress.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Higgenbotham’s gaze fixed on Allegra’s bare knees. She made a faint choking sound, and Griffin found it advisable to lead her to one of the chairs under the awning. As soon as she was gone, others arrived to take her place. One of the boys gave a low whistle, while Jane Pomeroy looked Allegra up and down with the subtlest of sneers.

“The poor thing ran out of fabric,” Jane said in a stage whisper to a pair of her favorite confidantes. “Do you think we should give her enough money so she can finish the dress?”

Gemma stepped forward, fists clenched. “There’s nothing wrong with her dress,” she said. “So you can keep your catty remarks to yourself, Jane Pomeroy.”

Jane fell back in affront. Her mother dragged her away toward the tables. Griffin watched them go, his vision hazed with anger that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere at all. He turned in a slow circle, his gaze traveling from face to face. The young men who’d been ogling Allegra with wolfish grins had the sudden urge to return to the punch bowl. The matrons with their cold, rigid faces beat a dignified retreat.

Griffin would have been glad to banish them all. Instead, he moved closer to Allegra, close enough to drown in her intoxicating scent.

“Gemma, go join your guests,” he said.

“Did you see how they looked at Allie? I—”

“This would be a good time for you to open your gifts.”

Gemma blew out her breath and stalked away. Griffin stood toe to toe with Allegra, his heart beating madly against his ribs.

“Are you mad?” he demanded.

She met his gaze with a raised brow. “They all survived the sight of me, didn’t they?”

He gripped her arm. “You know what I mean.

You’re in full sunlight. You could have been—”

“Mr. Durant!”

Mrs. Julia Pomeroy strolled up to join them, the crepe georgette skirt and sleeves of her mauve gown fluttering about her arms and legs as if to emphasize the youth she had lost and sought so desperately to recover. She linked her arm through Griffin’s and pinned Allegra with a hostile smile.

“Oh,” she said, her voice honeyed with malice, “did I interrupt? Do forgive me.”

Griffin bore the woman’s assault with all the calm he could muster. “As a matter of fact, Mrs. Pomeroy—”

“You weren’t interrupting anything important,” Allegra said, returning Julia’s smile with one that would have sent a less hardened woman scurrying for cover. “We were just discussing the beauty of the day.”

“How nice.” Julia’s gaze dropped to Allegra’s ankles and swept up to her knees. “There is a bit of a breeze off the Sound, though…are you certain you won’t catch cold, my dear?”

Allegra smoothed her dress over her hips with an insolent shimmy. “I’m very hot blooded,” she said, then looked at Griffin from under her thick black lashes. “I always find ways to keep myself warm.”

Julia’s lips twitched. “I don’t doubt it.” Her grip tightened on Griffin’s arm. “You won’t mind if I borrow Mr. Durant, will you, Miss Chase?”

Allegra concealed a yawn behind her hand. “Not at all, Mrs. Pomeroy. Just make sure you bring him back in one piece.”

If Griffin had been in wolf-shape at that moment, neither woman would have had any doubt as to his feelings at being caught in the middle of their spiteful games. As it was, he could only give Allegra a stare promising that their discussion was far from over.

He let Mrs. Pomeroy lead him away, forcing himself to attend to her wheedling conversation.

“Where did you find that…young woman, Mr. Durant?” she said. “I confess that I’ve never seen her before…certainly not anywhere on the North Shore. She’s a friend of Gemma’s?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Julia laughed. “Dear, dear Gemma. She has always been so broad-minded and kind toward those less fortunate. Didn’t she rescue a stray kitten this winter?” She patted Griffin’s arm as if to let him in on her joke. “Where did she meet Miss Chase?”

Griffin had no desire to get into a protracted conversation about Allegra’s life and origins. He certainly had no intention of informing Julia Pomeroy of Gemma’s escapades in Lulu’s.

“One meets with awide variety of people in the city,” he said. “As you said, Gemma has never been swayed by prejudice against those different from herself.”

“So true. You must sometimes worry that her natural generosity might…lead her into awkward situations.”

“I am perfectly capable of protecting my sister from any detrimental influences.”

“I’ve no doubt of that. And it’s only to be expected that an elder brother should occasionally indulge his sister when she begs him to bring one of her little pets into the house.”

Griffin stopped. “You refer to Miss Chase?”

“Why, Mr. Durant, whatever put such an idea into your head?” She studied his face, her eyes narrowed like those of a cat with a bird in its sights. “Still, you can hardly approve of that young woman’s appearance.”

“Surely her appearance can do little harm to anyone, Mrs. Pomeroy.”

She laughed again, brittle and harsh. “Spoken just like a man. We mothers know better. You’ve no idea what a negative effect these ‘jazz babies’ have on our children. Why, my Jane was telling me just the other day that Roberta Tidwell was caught accepting a delivery of gin at her parents’ summer house and Evie Hemming has begun to smoke…Can you imagine?”

“Gemma neither smokes nor drinks.”

“Of course not. And yet…Gemma would benefit so greatly from having a more mature young lady close at hand…one who could set an example she might easily follow.”

Griffin dropped his arm, forcing her to release it. “What did you have in mind, Mrs. Pomeroy?”

“You are still young, my dear Mr. Durant. Surely you’ve considered the advantages of a good marriage, especially in setting an example for your sister.”

“And you have a bride in mind for me.”

She had the sense to look abashed and dropped her gaze. “I would never presume. But Jane and Gemma have been acquainted for some time, and I can’t help but feel…”

The sound of her voice continued, but Griffin no longer listened. He could not, as a gentleman, tell Mrs. Pomeroy what he thought of her blatant scheming. In truth, it wasn’t much worse than what the other matrons with eligible daughters had tried at one time or another. And he found that he was far more angry with her unsubtle gibes at Allegra.

He looked back across the lawn toward the French doors and the garden room. Allegra was nowhere to be seen. Gemma had finished opening her presents and was making her thanks to the boys and girls gathered about the gift table. As Griffin watched, she snatched up one of the opened boxes and dashed into the house, trailed by several of her young guests. Jane Pomeroy and her cronies declined to follow.

“…does so admire what you’ve done for the dear little orphans in Hell’s Kitchen,” Julia rattled on. “He has been looking for a partner in a new financial venture that holds a great deal of promise, and he feels quite certain that you…”

Griffin waited, a strange sense of anticipation building in his chest. Except for Mrs. Pomeroy’s droning voice, everything seemed very quiet. The adult guests barely spoke to one another. The string quartet whispered and sighed as if the musicians had lost all interest in their work. The setting could not have been more ideal for the sudden blast of drums, horns and bass issuing from the summer parlor.

Julia Pomeroy broke off, her head snapping toward the house. Matrons gaped, and the handful of mature gentlemen in attendance muttered and shook their heads. Even the imperturbable Starke looked vaguely startled.

One by one the older guests and the few younger ones who had remained outside converged on the house like sleepwalkers under some sorcerer’s spell. Griffin left Mrs. Pomeroy and strode ahead of the others, already suspecting what he was about to find.

Every shade and curtain in the summer parlor had been drawn back to let in the sun. The oriental carpet had been rolled up and pushed against the wall, and a jazz recording was spinning on the turntable of the flattop Victrola, while a dozen young men and women clustered around Allegra Chase, clapping in time to her gyrating body and flying feet.

Griffin stood transfixed in the doorway, held captive by the music and the woman who danced with such abandon. Francis Spaulding began to copy Allegra’s movements, knobby arms and legs flailing. Elvira Dearing lifted her skirts above her knees and gave a few hesitant kicks, and then Tansy Higgenbotham threw herself into the dance with a little squeal of delight.

Allegra looked up at Griffin with a smile that he knew was meant for him and him alone. You see? she seemed to say. What’s the harm in a little fun?

Gemma laughed, her face glowing with happiness. Across the summer parlor, leaning against the doorjamb, Malcolm Owen gave a wry smile. Don’t ruin it. Let them be kids a little while longer…

“My God!” Mrs. Higgenbotham gasped in Griffin’s ear. “Is my Tansy…is that one of those horrid jazz dances?”

“Oh, my. Oh, my,” Mrs. Dearing murmured.

“Disgraceful,” Julia Pomeroy hissed.

“Come out of there at once, young man!” Mr. Spaulding bellowed at his son. He plunged past Griffin and reached for Francis, knocking into Gemma, who in turn bumped into the Victrola. The needle skidded off the record with a screech that brought everything to a violent halt.

Chapter Six

GRIFFIN STEPPED into the room and pulled Gemma out of the way. “Mr. Spaulding,” he said sharply, “I’ll ask you to watch where you’re going.”

“And I’ll ask you, Mr. Durant, not to expose my son to this vile mongrel…” He made a sound of disgust and dragged Francis from the room. The other young people looked at each other in stunned silence.

“What are you afraid of?” Allegra said to the parents, her body like a defiant shout. “Do you really believe that a little music and high spirits will turn your children into monsters of sin and depravity?” She met Griffin’s gaze. “Do you?”

“Well, I never!” someone choked.

“Disgusting!” another voice barked from the rear of the crowd.

Julia Pomeroy pushed forward, facing Allegra with a look of such hatred that it seemed her brittle face was about to crack under the strain. “You and your kind,” she snarled, “are destroying this great country with your filth and immorality. If I had my way—”

“If you had your way, madam,” Griffin said, “no one would be allowed to live in this great country but people exactly like you.”

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Mr. Durant! I—”

“You would suffer a very great shock if you were to discover the extent of your ignorance of the world, Mrs. Pomeroy. There are far worse things than jazz and lipstick.”

His words shook the room like thunderclaps. For a moment no one stirred, and then everyone moved at once. Julia Pomeroy swayed as if she were about to faint. Distraught parents snatched their children from the jaws of corruption and scurried to safety. Mrs. Higgenbotham bellowed at her cringing daughter. Elvira Dearing hung back, resisting Mrs. Dearing’s limp tug.

“That was simply the bee’s knees, Miss Chase,” she said. “If I could only—”

Mrs. Dearing found unexpected strength and hauled Elvira away. Within two minutes the room was deserted except for Allegra, Griffin and Gemma, who stared after her friends with anger and bewilderment.

“Don’t they have any guts at all?” she demanded. “And you think I should marry one of them?”

Griffin held on to his calm by a thread. “This is hardly the time to discuss such matters, Gemma.”

She wrenched out of his hold and snatched her record from the Victrola. “It’s ruined,” she said, as if the gift were the only casualty of the afternoon’s fracas. “I only got to play it once.”

Allegra glanced at Griffin, her expression almost subdued. “I’m sorry, Gemma.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Gemma hugged the scratched disc to her chest. “It was the best present anyone could have given me.”

Griffin raked his hands through his hair and looked out the window. The lawn was deserted. The guests had undoubtedly found their way to the drive and their limousines. The party was most definitely over.

“Aren’t you going to go after them and apologize?” Mal asked from the hall doorway.

Griffin was in no mood for Mal’s gentle mockery. “Apologize?” he snapped. “Apologize for what? This is my home, and my sister. I won’t tolerate any selfrighteous criticism about how Gemma conducts herself or whom she chooses to invite to her own party. If those dried-up old prunes can’t bring themselves to crawl out of the nineteenth century…”