Chapter 6

Frank Yerby was Delphinia's favourite author, and of all his novels the one that Delphinia liked best was The Foxes of Harrow, a tale that was, according to its cover, 'charged with all the passion and violence of the Old South', Delphinia could never get enough of the Old South, but this novel had something that none of the others did. Delphinia discerned in the unhappy life of Odalie, the mistress of Harrow, a remarkable parallel to her own, and she could never read about Odalie without wanting to cry. Like that unfortunate woman, Delphinia was descended of a fine old French family proud of its heritage; she was of a passionate yet sensitive nature, and beautiful and frail as a spring flower. Like Delphinia, Odalie was of so refined a nature and so delicate a constitution that it was, if not impossible, then very, very difficult, for her to fulfil her conjugal duties.

Of course there were differences too, but they were superficial. Delphinia, for instance, was not, due to a cruel jest of Fate, the mistress of Harrow or of anything like Harrow. As for Rodipoo, it was hard to say exactly how much he resembled the master of Harrow, Stephen Fox. He was still handsome (though, it is true, his hair did not glow like foxfires); he was, most times, a gentleman and considerate of his wife's finer feelings. She decided that, despite everything, she loved Rodipoo every bit as much as Odalie had loved Stephen Fox.

As though to put this decision to the test, Rodipoo came into the bedroom and, after a perfunctory greeting, took a seat by the window. They sat in silent communion as the room grew dusky, Delphinia loving Rodipoo, and Rodipoo, presumably, loving Delphinia.

At last, growing bored, she handed him the book. 'Would you read a bit of this aloud for me, darling? The light is going, and I feel one of my migraines coming on. I left off where Odalie said, "I've come to be your wife ... if you still want me."'

Indulgently, Roderick read aloud to his wife. Even blurred by whiskey his voice could send shivers through her. So refined, so gentlemanly! A pity that he would never be able to go before the bar! What jury could resist such a voice? She had never understood what had happened exactly, why that career had been denied him. There was, for those who would believe it, that ugly story that her father had tried to make her listen to, after she'd come back from the elopement and he was trying to persuade her to seek an annulment. Roderick had assured her it was a tissue of lies. Donald Bogan had been the guilty party, Donald Bogan, whose father was a judge on the State Supreme Court; Jealous of Roderick and Delphinia's love, he had shifted the blame for his terrible act to his unsuspecting fraternity brother. Roderick's family, though genteel, could do nothing to save him; Delphinia's father, who might have helped, simply refused! Yes, it was a terrible injustice; it reminded her strongly of what happened to Mack Lefevre, the hero of Trammermill (another novel of the Old South). Mack Lefevre had been sole heir to Trammermill, a fine old Southern plantation, but then one day he had a duel with ...

A slight worry-frown creased Delphinia's pale brow, as the sound of running footsteps distracted her from the train of her thoughts. The footsteps were too heavy to have been her daughter's, and surely all the servants would know better than to stampede up the stairs. All of them except...

As Delphinia suspected, it was the governess, Miss Uppity Godwin, who came stumbling into the room—without knocking!—looking quite as though she'd been through a tornado. Roderick leaped to his feet, and Delphinia had to bite her lip to keep from reprimanding him then and there. Standing up for a coloured servant, indeed! But it wouldn't do to mention it now, in front of Nell Godwin. Not, it seemed, that she would have noticed, for she was running off at the mouth a mile a minute, in a manner quite impossible for Delphinia to understand. Alice was learning to talk the same way, like some damn Yankee Northerner. It was really a disgraceful exhibition, and all of this on top of the agony that her migraine was causing her!

'Oh my God!' said Roderick, running his hands through his toupee. 'Oh, Jesus!' Such language!

'Yes,' continued Miss Godwin, 'and then I was locked in the car with him all the rest of the day. It was to give them time to take her wherever they had to. Didn't you wonder where we were?'

'I asked Emmie this afternoon, and she said you were taking her to the beach.'

Miss Godwin wrung her hands. 'I tried to find out something. I tried to talk with him, but he wouldn't say anything, not a word. It's my fault for having believed him and gone into the car, but when he said that Mr. Duquesne was ill, I didn't think ... Oh, it was so awful, I'm so sorry!'

'Kidnapped,' said Roderick. 'Kidnapped!'

Delphinia was beginning to understand what had happened.

Miss Godwin began crying into a soiled yellow handkerchief and sank into the imitation Louis Quatorze chair. Really, that was going too far! Without so much as a by-your-leave!

'Kidnapped?' asked Delphinia, in a sceptical tone. 'Who is kidnapped?' She leaned forward in her sickbed, unmindful of the arthritis that would ordinarily have made this movement impossible. She clawed the silk comforter off her legs and demanded imperiously: 'What the hell are you talking about, Nell?'

The canaries, always responsive to the moods of their mistress, began to screech and flutter, while the governess, scorning to answer, sat there in the Louis Quatorze chair and snuffled into her handkerchief.

Delphinia swung her legs out of the bed. 'What are you talking about, Nell? Where's my baby? Answer me, damn you! Where's my little Alice?' A little unsteadily, for she was not used to walking, Delphinia tottered across the room and caught hold of the governess's shoulders and began shaking her. 'What have you done with my baby?' she screamed into Miss Godwin's face. 'Kidnapper! Child molester! I knew it would end this way, the minute I laid eyes on your black face.' She lifted a hand to slap the Negress, but the effort of rising from her bed had so over-taxed Delphinia's weakened frame, that she collapsed to the floor before she could carry out her intention.

Roderick helped his wife back to her sickbed, after which all three of them seemed sorflewhat calmer.

'What shall we do?' Roderick wanted to know.

'They warned me that you weren't to go to the police, Mr. Raleigh. They said they'd find out if you did. But I don't know what else can be done.'

'They? Who are they? You only mentioned a Negro chauffeur.'

'There was another man that drove the car that Alice went off in. I couldn't get much of a look at him.'

'Oh, my poor darling baby!' Delphinia crooned mindlessly. 'Oh my little Alice! They've taken her away; she'll be raped, she'll be murdered! The niggers have stolen my baby and they're going to enslave her innocent white body and lock her up in a bordello ...'

'Delphinia, please shut up,' Roderick said sternly. 'These fantasies of yours are embarrassing.' His wife's mounting hysteria seemed to act as a dampener to his own emotions. 'If Alice is kidnapped, we shall have to ransom her. It is as simple as that. I'll see Jason tonight. I presume they gave you instructions on how we are to get the money to them?'

Miss Godwin lit a cigarette to steady her hand. 'Yes, Mr. Raleigh, they did. And that was why I said it would probably be necessary to bring in the police. You see, the ransom they're asking is one million dollars.'

'A million dollars?' Jason's mouth fell open, and a flush overspread his hollow cheeks. 'Why, it's absurd!'

'My sentiments entirely, Uncle Jason. Of course, it's evident that they have the trust fund in mind. It was never entirely a secret that Alice had been liberally-provided for. When we contested the will, the story must have been in every newspaper from Baltimore to Atlanta.' Roderick was quite calm now. He sat with his hands resting loosely on his knees, staring fixedly at the four golden balls whose spinning powered the glass-encased clock on Jason's desk. It was ten-thirty. Only the way Roderick's jaws were clamped tight-shut betrayed the tension he was under.

'It can't be done, Roderick. It would be literally impossible to have that much money in cash by Monday evening. Alice's money is in bonds and real estate. It would take months to liquidate such a sum.'

'We have to do something.'

'Yes, yes, of course. A hundred thousand? Mightn't they content themselves with a hundred thousand?'

Roderick's hands tightened about his knees. His voice grew shrill. 'Don't ask me, for heaven's sake, Jason! How should I know what will content them? Maybe they'll be satisfied with ten thousand a year, like Delphinia and I have been. Or maybe they won't stop once they've got the million they ask for. Maybe they'll murder Alice no matter what we do. Maybe they already have. But, God damn it, Jason, I wish you wouldn't talk about this as though it were a new investment for her portfolio. Her life—and maybe her sanity—are in your hands.'

The old man lowered his gaze, as though Roderick had

touched a sore point. 'Yes, I know, but we must try to keep our wits about us. I'm Alice's lawyer, as well as her uncle, and I must regard things in both lights. As her lawyer, I may say that I have been dealing with criminals of all sizes ever since I was called to the bar, and it has been my experience that the bigger a criminal one has to deal with the less of a fool he will be. To judge only by the asking price, these are the biggest kind of criminals. Now, wouldn't it be foolish of them to kill the goose that lays their golden eggs? I'm sure the only reason for their haste is that if the whole business is concluded in less than three days, it will not necessarily be considered a Federal crime, whereas after three days it automatically becomes a matter for the F.B.I. That would account for the Monday night deadline. No, believe me, the best policy is to string them along at least one more day. After that...' Jason trailed off weakly.

Roderick's gaze was directed squarely at his brother-in-law now, and when he spoke, he seemed to be choking on his own sarcasm. 'After that? Yes, Jason, after that? What would you say the odds are she'll still be alive then? Better than fifty-fifty? How much of a gamble should we take on it? Two-to-one, in our favour? How much, Jason?'

'I'm sorry, Roderick.'

'And I'm sorry—to have troubled you. I thought you'd know better than me what to do, but I see I was mistaken.' He reached for the telephone on Jason's desk.

Jason put his hand over Roderick's preventing him lifting the receiver. 'What are you doing? Who are you calling?'

'The police, as I should have done an hour ago.'

'Shouldn't we talk about that first? I mean—is it wise, Roderick—considering? If they find out...'

'How are they to find out if only the two of us know I've called?'

'Perhaps they're watching your house. I don't know, Roderick. But we must be careful. We must consider the risk to Alice.'

'A moment ago you were cavalier enough about that?

He pulled the receiver away from Jason and dialled O. 'I want the police,' he told the operator. This is an emergency.'

'You're right, of course,' Jason mumbled. 'Of course you're right.'

Roderick described the situation succintly, twice, first to the. desk sergeant, then to his superior. After hanging up, he retrieved his hat and walking stick from the chair by the door. 'Good-bye, Uncle Jason. I must return home. The police will be there shortly.' 'If I can be of any help...

'In that case, I'm sure, the police will let you know.' He was half out the front door when Jason called out his name. 'Yes?' he asked briskly. 'Yes, what is it, Jason?'

'Nothing,' the old man replied in muffled tones. He had wanted to tell Roderick to be brave, to keep his chin up, but after all, it was advice he could more suitably have offered himself.

I'm too old, he thought, for this kind of thing.

A million dollars! Most people had no idea what an immense sum of money a million dollars was. Only if one had worked with large sums for as long as Jason Duquesne had did one have even an inkling of its magnitude. A million dollars ...

He paced the carpet in front of his desk, following a well-worn triangular path. At eleven-thirty he called the house on Gwynn River Falls Drive, but the line was busy. He took down a dusty law volume and sat at his desk to read. There had been a case some years before ... if he could but remember...

His fingers turned the pages over quietly. Sometimes he would pause a moment to scan a paragraph, but he did not find what he sought. Finally, with a sigh, he closed the book. While one hand pulled off his reading glasses, the other massaged the inner corners of his weary eyes, unconsciously rubbing dust into them.