The black swan (44 page)

He was suddenly swallowed into the companionway. Dulcie realized she had been standing with her breath held, every muscle tensed. She managed to close her mouth. She blinked rapidly. She turned to Claudine, to find her maid gawking much as she must have been.

"Ooh my, Miss Dulcie," Claudine breathed.

They strolled the length of the deck once more, then went down to help Aunt Mad unpack.

"We saw the captain. Uncle Oliver," said Dulcie. "Tramping up and down the deck with the weight of the world on him."

"As he should," replied Oliver. "This is his first voyage in command of the Tunbridge. He has three hundred sixty passengers to worry about, as well as his crew."

"I certainly hope he has a postilion," said Mad placidly, and they all began to laugh.

Dulcie said, "You know the captain, then, Uncle Oliver?"

"We sailed under him last year on the Fairwinds. Surly fellow, bullies his crewmen."

"Oh! He bullies his crewmen? But he's so handsome!"

"Captain Sloan? I shouldn't have described him so. But, then, I don't have your fresh viewpoint."

"But his name isn't—" Dulcie stopped herself. She had given him her word she'd never mention him, his ship, or that he'd helped her.

That night at the second dinner sitting Dulcie saw him again, two tables away. His black curls gleamed in the lamplight as he bent his head to take a forkful of food. He was making perfunctory replies to an attractive girl next to him. "There, Uncle Oliver, how can you not call him good-looking?"

"Oh, that one. That's someone else. Yes, he's got a nice face. A bit too sensitive, but still strong." Oliver smiled. "Shall I find out about him, my dear?"

Dulcie saw him frequently on deck the next few days, staring preoccupied over the ocean for an hour at a time or pacing with that restless impatience of a man with not enough to do. She sometimes glanced at him if they passed each other; but his eyes stayed straight ahead of him across the miles to New York City.

The voyage could be over if she waited for him to approach her. There was not that much time to waste being shy and ladylike. Driven by impulses she only dimly understood, she slipped away from Claudine, slipped away from them all in search of Adam Tremain.

By the time she had climbed the companionway and forced herself to walk sedately the length of the deck, her heart was pounding in something approaching panic. He was there—he usually was—staring out at the water cleaved by the prow, wrestling with private problems she could scarcely have imagined.

She gathered her courage. "Cap-Captain Tremain."

Moving with the alertness of a man who lives always with danger, he had already turned toward her, sweeping his cap off to tuck it under bis left arm. "Yes, ma'am?" he said with a half smile, the intense blue eyes lighting.

He was tall, almost threateningly large, a rock of a man one could break oneself on. Suppressing the urge to shiver, she drew in her breath. "I'm sorry to disturb you. Captain."

"It's all right, Miss Moran." His voice was deep, accented by the South. "How can I be of service to you?"

Dulcie took herself in hand. She had business with this man, even if she did find him troublesomely attractive.

Surely she could handle the asking of a few questions! "I brought you a number of passengers. You took them North—^to freedom." His expression had changed, closed, become withdrawn if not outright combative. Dulcie stumbled on, "Surely you remember. Captain Tremain! There were ten of them, and you promised one man you'd find his sons for him."

He looked out to sea a moment, and his eyes returned to strike into hers again. From the time they'd first met, this girl had meant trouble. "I don't remember. Miss Moran."

She persisted, filling in details. "Can't you tell me about Fellie? Did he get away safely? And what about his boys?'*

"I can't tell you anything because I haven't got the least recollection of the man you're asking about"

"But you promised!" Dulcie's eyes filled with tears. "It meant so much to Fellie . . . and to me."

Relenting a little, he said gently, "Miss Moran, if I gave my word, I kept it."

The interview was over.

She turned to go. It had been an utter failure. Not only had she found out nothing about Fellie and his family but now Captain Tremain would see her as a pushy, forward female. She had been a fool, a shameless fool.

Adam watched her proud retreat, his eyes troubled. The man Fellie had been a favorite of hers; she had gone to great risk to help him make free. Naturally she wanted to know about him.

Heavy steps on the deck behind him brought his thoughts to a halt. It could only be one person: Captain Sloan. Adam studied the water, tense, braced against Sloan's too boisterous slap on the back. At the last instant he faced him and saluted smartly.

Israel Sloan's brutish expression had changed only for the worse since Adam had served under him as second mate. "Well, Captain*' he said with a joviality that showed his tobacco-stained teeth. "You remember one thing I taught you—respect for your elders and betters. Even if that was a pretty God-damned sloppy salute."

Adam looked him boldly in the eyes, aware that Sloan would take fullest enjoyment in embarrassing him, if indeed he could not find sufficient excuse to clap him into irons or have him flogged before the crew. "Sorry, Captain, guess I've gotten out of practice.'*

"Too busy tryin' to take over my command, that it?"

"No, sir."

Sloan's voice was menacing. "Come on now. Mister, don't go tellin' me no friggin' lies. I got eyes, and they see real good. I been watchin' you trampin' my decks from stem to stem, nosin' into every little thing, lookin' for somethin' to go crosswise so's you can be Johnny-on-the-spot to set it right. Ain't that so. Mister?"

Adam held Sloan's gaze. "That's not so. Captain. I'm a passenger on your ship, and that's all. I have my master's papers in good order. I suggest you call me Captain Tre-main."

Sloan guffawed. "Just happens I like to call you Mister. Helps keep you in your rightful place. I see you got all the pretty little quiffs marchin' right up to you to make your private arrangements, too." He leered, revoltingly suggestive. "Just let one of my men catch you holed up someplace—anyplace—^with one o' your whores! I'll make you so sorry you'll wish you'd been bom dead, do you understand me. Mister?"

"Perfectly," said Adam. "As a paying passenger, I don't take kindly to being threatened. Do you understand me, Captain?"

His thick fingers smacked Adam's lapel heavily. "I don't like your uniform. Mister. On this ship there's only one captain, and I'm it. Hereafter, you find something else to wear."

"Yes, sir." Adam saluted as Sloan left, and turned back to the sea. God forbid that he'd ever become like Sloan! Rank was such a privilege. "Find something else to wear." Adam's eyes suddenly sparkled.

At dinner that night Dulcie sat with her back toward Adam's table, a maneuver that Adam observed wryly, and devoted her attentions to Goodman Hastings, one of the five Grand Tourists. Skits would be presented in the lounge so that the ladies would have an evening of entertainment before their escorts attended Gentlemen's Night as guests of the captain. Goody invited Dulcie to accompany him to the skits, and with Mad's permission she agreed.

After the entertainment they strolled leisurely around the deck. Goody tucked Dulcie's hand under his arm, quoting humorous incidents of the presentation. Dulcie took an unexpectedly fierce delight in being with some other

gentleman when they happened on Captain Tremain standing in his eternal spot along the rail, smoking a fresh cigar and watching the sea.

Then Goody nearly spoiled it all. "Ah, there's Adam!" he cried happily. "Come along. Miss Dulcie, I'll introduce you."

"Good evening, Miss. Evening, Goody," said Adam. In the pale lights his teeth flashed in—at last—a smile. He seemed to have a genuine liking for the irrepressible Goody.

"Miss Dulcie, may I present Captain Adam Tremain? Captain Tremain, Miss Dulcie Moran of Savannah, my own hometown."

Dulcie was afraid Adam would say they had already met disastrously. Instead, he said with another smile for her alone, "It's a real pleasure to meet you. Miss Moran."

He could not see her hot blushes. "Thank you, Captain Tremain. Would you please tell me somethin'? What do you see out there in all that water that continues to hold your interest?"

"Whales. Porpoises. Seaweed. Little pale things that glow."

Goody had been willing to flaunt Dulcie to Adam; he was not so willing to share her. "Going to Gentlemen's Night, Adam?"

A broad grin answered that.

The next morning Oliver, arising late after the Gentlemen's Night, was shaving. Suddenly he burst out laughing. "Oh Mad, you'll never see the point of this, but it's too funny to keep." He started laughing again. "You bring to mind Captain Tremain? Handsome devil, I know you recognize him. Well, it seems he served as second mate under Captain Sloan, and now that Tremain's a captain himself, Sloan is smarting under the competition."

"But not smartenin', I'll wager.'*

Oliver chuckled. "That's very good, Mad. Deep." He patted her hand. "So Captain Sloan tells Captain Tremain not to wear his uniform, to find something else to wear. Oh, ha! ha! When Captain Tremain comes in, long after everyone else has arrived, he's wearing—now get this, dear Mad—he's wearing his trousers and his J)Oots—and a string tie! Oh! ho! ho! ho! And nothing else—except a coat of suntan! Isn't that rich?"

Mad mumbled over the items of Adam's attire. "He'd forgotten his shirt, Ollie? Is that it?"

"Yes!" Oliver howled, shaking with his glee. "And his coat! But he did it on purpose!"

Mad looked at him blankly. "Ollie dear, why would he do that?"

"Because Captain Sloan had ordered him to, and he didn't have any other clothes along except his uniforms!"

In her years of marriage with Oliver, Mad had almost forgotten how to make herself blush. Suddenly she remembered. "Ollie, I don't believe I need to hear any more. This is quite embarrassin', dear."

"But it's funny! Don't you think so? A room of perfectly attired gentlemen, behaving very properly, then suddenly in comes this magnificent young savage. All aplomb, smiles, and sunshine and shaking hands with everyone. Then gradually a hush fell over the room as it dawned on everyone what he'd done. I glanced at Captain Sloan, and I vow, my dear, I thought I'd see the man have an apoplectic fit. He roared out, *Captain Tremain! Get your uniform on!'"

Mad tittered in spite of herself. "What then, Ollie? Oh, this is just shockin'!"

Oliver chuckled again. "Captain Tremain saluted grandly and said, *Yes, sir! By your leave, sir!''Then everyone in the room started laughing, Sloan last of all. He knew when he'd been bested. When Tremain returned, everyone was slapping him on the back, and he went over to Sloan and apologized handsomely.'*

Mad smiled a little. "Men are so terribly vulgar!"

Oliver laughed. "Oh, no, nothing vulgar about it at all. He did the whole thing with such style and grace that it positively made the entire evening. Hardly a man there but envied him his savoir faire, not to mention his display of muscles." He lowered his voice. "Mad, do you know, I would nearly believe he's tanned all over?"

Mad, sitting straight up in bed listening avidly, shut her eyes tightly. "Oliver, I don't think I need to know any more."

"Well, as you wish, but wasn't it a fine joke?'*

"Yes, Ollie dear, a very fine joke."

So good, in fact, that Mad and her deck-chair friends analyzed it endlessly, whispering behind their hands.

"Scandalous!" said one. "Incredible!" said the next, who in forty wedded years had never seen her husband in less than his union suit. Somehow everyone heard, even the young ladies, for whom discussion of such behavior was beyond the pale.

And Captain Tremain, restlessly patrolling the deck of a ship not his, was no longer allowed to remain aloof. He was drawn into deck games, debates, and the entertainments he had been ignoring. His smile, which so few had seen previously, appeared frequently enough to dazzle the sourest dowager, who outspokenly called him a shameless rogue.

Dulcie heard the story, whispered between giggles, from her shipboard friend, Mandy Thomas. "I have even heard that his body is tanned from the sun!" said Mandy, her eyes large with speculation. "That must mean he appears in the out-of-doors without his—^without his shirt! Isn't that awful, Dulcie?"

Dulcie, who had formed altogether too vivid an image of Captain Tremain wearing only trousers and boots, blushed deeply. "He should be ashamed of himself." She pushed the image away.

Thereafter, although it was impossible to avoid him, she passed the man as though he had become invisible. Such reckless boldness as his frightened her in some way she didn't care to examine. She strolled in the afternoons with Goody Hastings and Toby Dobbs. She played battledore and shuttlecock with Mandy and her sisters. There was music and dancing nightly, and Dulcie was often invited, but Adam was never there, to her great relief.

An Atlantic voyage would hardly be complete if all its days were sunny and its nights stariit. Two days out of New York Dulcie awoke to find rain gusting in. She sat up in her sodden bed and slammed and secured the porthole. "Claudine, would you get me a dry blanket?"

"Ah's seasick. Miss Dulcie. But Ah'll do it d'reckly."

Then Dulcie noticed the lurching motion of the ship, wallowing like a hog in mud. "Never mind, Claudine," she said quickly. "You stay in bed," She wetted a cloth and put it on Claudine's sweating forehead.

"Ah's so cor. Miss Dulcie," said Claudine, her teeth chattering. "Ah got to git up an' fin' me a quilt."

Dulcie put more covers on her maid and tucked them

in. Claudine gave her a weak smile of thanks, closed her eyes, and dozed.

Dulcie dressed in her riding clothes. She had used them only a few times in Europe. But on a sloppy day like this they were practical.

There were few at the tables this morning. Oliver was cheerfully spooning down steaming oatmeal and crunching his toast and kippers.