The black swan (62 page)

"Shameless!" Webster hissed. "Brazen, bold-faced piece of baggage!"

Dulcie said rapidly, "I did a foolish thing, I know that now. I can only ask your forgiveness. Uncle Webster." Her aunt had revived and was looking at her coldly, her lip lifted as though something stank. "I am sorry, Aunt Ca'line."

Webster's chest expanded, seeing he had Caroline's agreement. "We extended our hospitality, Dulcie—generously. You've repaid our kindness by causin' us all to hang our heads in shame. You are no longer welcome under my roof. My letter to your father, with a detailed account of this escapade, will precede you home. Perhaps Jem will have some idea of what to do with you. That, fortunately, is not my cross to bear." He pointed dramatically upstairs. "Go to your room!"

Robert and Phil burst in. "Daddy! There's a fire!" PhU shouted. "It's Gray Oaks! Got to be—nothin' else around for miles."

Robert quickly crossed the room. "Dulcie, are you all right?"

"Robert! I do not wish her speakin' with any of our family!"

"Daddy! The fire—aren't we gonna—"

"Damn Gray Oaks!"

"Phil, get our darkies over there to help." Robert's eyes held Webster's. There was no compromise in either son or father. "I'll see Dulcie to her room."

Dulcie preceded him, suddenly tired; she kept her back straight, walking with a dignity Patricia would have been proud to see. But she had no feelings of pride or dignity. Uncle Webster had thrown her out of the house, something almost unheard of in a Southern family. She couldn't even whisper to Gay, her own cousin. And Robert—how long before he turned against her too? It had all been for Adam, yet he neither knew it nor could help her. Courage was a lonely virtue. But she would not let them see her cry.

Robert touched her arm. "What happened, Dulcie?" he asked quietly.

Dulcie met his look defiantly, and defiance melted. She was nearly undone by his eyes: loving, understanding, saddened. She said with great difficulty, "I-I wanted to see Adam once more. Oh, Robert, I've made such a mess of everythin'!"

"We must contact Adam at once. Perhaps he has not sailed. If he knew about this, Dulcie, he'd want to help you."

"No! No, I've caused him enough trouble tonight. Robert, please—"

"Dulcie, he'd want to be here."

Dulcie thought of the slaves. She didn't want Adam to leave them. And if he did, she knew, she'd have lost. "I don't want you to summon him, Robert. Just . . . don't hate me, please. I never meant to harm your family."

Robert kissed her cheek. "I can't pretend to understand you or Adam. But I am not my father, you know."

Dulcie could not speak. With his loving gesture, Robert had made her feel the shame that Webster never could. She had deliberately flaunted the tenets she had built her life around and thrown them at her aunt and uncle. Robert knew, and still he could forgive her.

She said finally, "Adam . . . asked me to marry him. Next month."

He looked relieved. "It would seem, after tonight, the sooner the better. My blessin's to you both—though you'll be tryin' to harness the wind."

When he had gone, Dulcie stood with her back to the closed door. Jem and Patricia would hear of her latest headlong venture, see it written down in every black, damning detail. Jem had forgiven her one unforgivable deed. But even if he were placable this time, it would not be enough to repair a ruined reputation.

Claudine's voice was querulous. "Miss Dulcie, wheah on earth you been?"

"You can start packin', Claudine. We're goin' home."

As the train moved toward Savannah, Dulcie remained quiet, her eyes fixed on the countryside. She knew she wasn't going to be absolved of this wrongdoing. Through the unholy network of cousins and uncles and aunts that linked Southern families, everyone would soon know Dulcie was of unsavory character. They would punish her and, by association, her parents. She could not put them through that.

She could not go home.

With an overwhelming sense of fright and loss, she thought of her promise to be in Savannah for Adam. And now . . . "Claudine, we're not stoppin' at Savannah. We're goin' to New York."

Claudine's eyes popped. "Miss Dulcie, you cain't do dat! If fen we doan come home, Mastah Jem gwine be awful skeert. Ain't right you do dat."

"It isn't right that I bring this home to him either.

And it isn't right that I should arrive home simply to tell him I'm goin' to disappoint him again. And I am, Claudine. I'm goin' with Adam."

The trip, usually a matter of a few days, stretched out endlessly. Because of the war, schedules were abandoned. Every Confederate Army unit not already lining the south-em banks of the Potomac River seemed to be traveling in that direction. Soldiers swsirmed onto the train at every stop. Because of the urgency of moving the troops, civilians were shunted aside. They spent anxious hours in depots and sleepless nights in strange hotels in strange cities, waiting for a train not filled to capacity with supplies or troops.

At Wilmington Dulcie sent two telegrams. The first to Oliver. The second to Jem and Patricia: GOING TO VISIT AUNT MAD STOP LOVE YOU BOTH STOP FORGIVE ME STOP PLEASE UNDERSTAND STOP DULCIE.

She arrived at the Raymers' two hours before they were to attend a ball. Mad ignored Dulcie's confession entirely.

"As long as you're safe and no harm actually came of it, I don't see any reason to think about it for another minute. Do you, OlUe?"

"Of course not, dear Mad. In the instance of yourself or Dulcie, I am sure reflection upon past sins would produce no improvement for the future."

"Exactly what I thought," Mad said smugly. "Now, dear, you tell Claudine to unpack. We'll all attend the soiree."

"Oh, Aunt Mad, I couldn't possibly dance tonight! I'm covered with dirt. You can't imagine what the trains are like these days. Why, last night Claudine and I had to sleep in some man's bam."

Mad waved her toward the stairs. "That's all past, dear. A pretty gown and oodles of compliments from young men will set you to rights.**

As Dulcie allowed Claudine to scrub away the grime of travel and massage her weary muscles, Adam sat in the comfortable study of Clyde Lewis, New York importer of fine wines. Lewis had concluded his business and left to join his guests. A gust of music blew in from the ballroom.

Rod Courtland carefully locked that door, and the one to the hall. Opening Lewis's safe, he withdrew a packet

wrapped in oilskins. From it he unrolled a marine chart of the north shore of Long Island. "We'll have to change your anchorage, Adam. Sorry I had to ask you to meet me here. I'd already made my engagement for this evenin'."

Adam grinned. "Considering the lady's charms . . ."

Courtland's deep blue eyes sparkled impishly. "God bestows his gifts more lavishly on some than on others. Yes, well—enough of that." He pointed to Long Island Sound. "You'll sail in here, around Centre Island past Brickyard Point. Directly north is an abandoned manor house. Since it overlooks my dock area, I'll let you know about the tenants if it is taken."

To Adam an abandoned mansion seemed minor in an area of navigationally troublesome peninsulas and cul-de-sacs. Courtland's route made a landlocked hook, starting south in Oyster Bay, curling north again in the waters enclosed by Mill Neck, Oak Neck, and Centre Island. Along the south, a mile and a half from Courtland's home, lay the main body of Long Island. "I'm aware of the lengths to which you've gone to help, sir, but . , . once I'm in these waters, I can be cut off and helpless—^"

Courtland jabbed at the sheet. "Here's Jones. Here's Pace. Van Meter. Maring. Crane. Van Loon. All good neighbors, all seamen, whalers, and smugglers. Others, like Baldwin here, are on my payroll.'*

"My pardon, sir. As usual, you've planned carefully."

"Protecting my investment, Adam. That includes you." His eyes met Adam's. Embarrassed by the emotion generated, he added gruffly, "I have a caretaker couple—^Hans and Cateau. Hans is a former seaman, tough as they come. Both work with the Underground. I know you don't like sailing into these waters, but—"

Adam smiled easily. "I'd make a very scared blockade runner if I ran up the white feather every time I sensed danger.'*

Rod nodded once. "It's clear to you, then?'*

"Perfectly. One or two more details and I'll be on my way. I've ordered another ship from Collie."

"Do you need a bank draft from me?"

"No, this time it is all mine. I just thought you should know. Watson, Collie's agent, has promised it to me in six to eight months."

Rod gave him a leng, smiling, speculative look. "I envy

you young men. You take terrible risks with your lives, but a few runs through the blockade and you're wealthy. I am eager to see what you do after the war.*'

Adam shrugged, embarrassed at wanting to share with this man something he'd kept a private vision. "I have an idea of helping to build the South into what it could be. Start a shipping line, perhaps, or factories. A one-man revolution." He smiled wryly. "If I live."

"Just don't get careless, Adam. Oh, say! I have a message for you. You remember Oliver Raymer's niece? He had a telegram from her. She's to arrive any day. You're to be sure to look her up."

Adam looked away. If Dulcie was coming here, she would not be in Savannah waiting for him. He had said that only she could prevent their marriage. She apparently had decided. This time it was for good. He would not dangle on a string for any woman. He rose. "Thank you for the message, sir. I'll see you in a couple of months."

"She may be here tonight, Adam. I saw Raymer last week, and I know their names are on Lewis's guest list Look for her."

Adam shook his head as he picked up his coat.

Rod put his hand on Adam's shoulder. "Adam, don't be a fool like I was. Don't let her get away if she means anything to you."

"I had no say in the matter. Dulcie decided to end it between us. It's just as well, though," Adam said briskly. "All's she's ever meant to me is trouble. I could use a lot less of that these days. Good-bye, Rod." He took the oilskin packet and strode into the ballroom, leaving the safe open.

Officiously attendant, the Lewises' butler entered the study, emptying the ashtrays and righting the precise angle of the chairs Adam and Rod had vacated. His eyes riveted on the open safe. Hurrying, he went back to the ballroom, watching Adam as he moved with grim haste and stayed suspiciously near the wall, excusing himself from all society with the guests.

Impatiently Adam wove his way through a group of chatting men. Everything had conspired to delay him. Having to meet Rod here in downtown Manhattan took him miles from the Liiberty's anchorage. He'd arrived at the Lewises' late and would now be late getting back to the ship.

"Adam! Adam!" A lithe form in a white-embroidered

silk taffeta gown deserted her partner and flew across the ballroom.

Adam stopped short. "Miss Moran! Lately of Savannah, I believe. Fancy seeing you in New York."

"I can explain everythin'l Uncle Webster—" Interested eyes surrounded them. "Let's go somewhere. We can't talk herel"

"No, we can't. I am already several hours late." He tried to step around her, but she grabbed his arm, making him drop the oilskin packet.

"Adam—please—you must listen! You don't understand!"

With a muttered imprecation he stooped swiftly to retrieve the charts.

Dulcie screamed. Adam whirled at the sound of a shot.

"Stop that man!" A second shot rang out in the marble-floored ballroom, whistling over Adam's head and lodging in the heavy oak front door.

"Stop him, I say! He's a spy! He's robbed the safe!'*

Dulcie jumped to Adam's side, ready to defend and stand by him. Around them women were screaming, running with zigzagging steps to their spouses. Potted palms tumbled in the flurry of skirts. Bold gallants, too old or infirm for real war, searched through coat pockets for weapons to bring to bay the vicious Southern spy.

"Stop him! He's a Rebel spy!" resounded in the chaotic room. Most were not certain which of the men in black dinner dress was the spy they were to capture. Others converged on Adam.

Instinctively, faced with pistols and men who had drunk too much to be sensible, Adam grasped Dulcie tightly. In his other hand he clutched the oilskin packet. Catlike, he backed through the door. Nearing a group of women grimacing in collective horror, he began to run.

"Stop, or I'll shoot!"

"No! The ladies!" The shot rang out. The room became a hell of piercing screams and scrambling figures. The huge, candle-lit chandelier crashed to the floor, throwing the small burning candles in frenzied sparking paths across the dance floor. Ladies hastily jerked up heavily hooped skirts before they caught fire. The men fought their way through the chaos trying to extinguish the flames before the house caught fire. Adam and Dulcie ran through the door.

"Stay by the driveway. Once they've calmed, go back

and act as though nothing happened," Adam shouted as he ran for his carriage.

"I'm comin' with you!"

*'No!" The carriage driver joUed to attention as Adam vauhed to the seat.

"Adam!" she wailed, her heart in her voice, as she lifted her enormous skirts, running after him. He told himself she wouldn't run far. Then another shot sounded. He hung onto the seat rail and reached out for her. She grabbed his hand, and as the driver whipped up the horses, she managed to get into the carriage, falling to the floor, her hoops blocking Adam's view. He pressed them down out of the way and looked behind them.

"Ohh!"

"Stay down, or we'll both get shot! They're coming after us and shooting at anything that moves."

"I'm not goin' to stay on this filthy floor!"

The carriage gathered speed. Dulcie, helpless in her finery, bounced around as the wheels jolted over the bumpy streets, careening and skittering around corners. Then she felt Adam's boot in the small of her back.

"Stay down! They're shooting!"

Over the noise of rocks and mud that slammed against the underside of the carriage, and the deafening rumble of the wheels, Dulcie could barely hear. "There he goes!" "Shoot the horse! Slow him down!"