The black swan (96 page)

"I am already. Take these baubles to Tiffany's and have them appraised if you doubt that. However, I intend to acquire more wealth, and with it a great deal of power— that is true coinage, my dear. Does my proposal interest you? If so, we will be married in April."

"You've even planned that?"

He smiled at her, cupping her chin with his fingers. "Don't look so appalled. Can you deny that you and 1 have enjoyed one another's company? Come, now, answer."

"You-you've always been kind, and you understood when no one else did."

"That won't change. I've merely taken away the impediments to your feeling free to remarry."

"But Edmund—" Dulcie made a helpless gesture. "I've never heard of such a proposal."

Edmund laughed. "Where is your forward-thinking independence? Perhaps you are more conventional than you thought. I will let you think about it until New Year's Day. We will announce our plans then, or . . . Now, put those gems on. I want to see you attired as you should be."

Dulcie fastened the jewels on. "The rings too," Edmund insisted. "Now look at yourself. That is the way I would have you, Dulcie, the way a woman like you should be treated always."

She stepped back from the long mirror. The green silk gown in the daring new hoopless style fitted her perfectly. The necklace was tiered, resting just at the cleft of her pale breasts. The earbobs swung and shimmered. The cluster of stones on her left hand glittered.

The man behind her smiled, "Ah," he said softly. "The perfect picture of the wife of a wealthy man. Think of that, Dulcie." He picked up his greatcoat and top hat, gloves and stick. "A powerful man."

The front door opened and closed behind him, letting in a rush of icy air. As one in a dream, Dulcie moved from the mirror to turn the key in the lock, then returned to the mirror, posing prettily, admiring the rich sheen of her hair in its festive ringlets, pretending to herself that she was not going to look at the expanse of priceless gems that would be hers if she agreed to marry Edmund Revanche.

He had not told her everything, she knew. His business dealings would not be so lily white, his wages not so generous as he portrayed. Undoubtedly he intended to seize a

plantation here and there for the tax moneys. In poh'tics he would be very successful, with or without her help.

And how well would he live up to his share of the bargain? He had promised her a certain freedom, treatment as an equal, and cash for her private use. She would be expected to serve on committees, to head causes, to work for the sick and the homeless. Her freedom would be a hard-won privilege. But she would not have to be his whore. Edmund was not a warm man, but he had always been kind, even indulgent toward her. And he appreciated her intelligence—even was willing to buy her for it.

Dulcie turned her head yet another time, watching the pretty fall of the earbobs, seeing the gaslight reflected endlessly in the facets of the diamonds that lay cool among the green emeralds on her breasts.

She tried the words on: "I will marry you, A . . ." She saw her face turn pale and sad, and she stretched her mouth into a deliberate smile. The man whose name she had so nearly said was gone, and her love for him was dead. But they had shared a dream together, to rebuild the South. It was the one untarnished memory of their short marriage. In her own way, no matter how small, she would keep that dream alive. And Edmund was offering her the opportunity.

Christmas dinner was a gay affair with twenty at the table, including Parley. Dulcie, strangely depressed, put forth hardly any effort to be witty or entertaining.

Parley said solicitously. "Are you unwell?"

She managed a smile. "A silly little headache. I . . . had a sleepless night,"

"Waiting for Saint Nicholas?" he asked mischievously, and she giggled.

After their guests were gone. Mad found Dulcie in her bedroom. "You don't treat poor Parley very well, Dulcie,** she said mildly.

"Aunt Mad, you're up to somethin'. I know it's against your principles, but could you tell me without beatin' around the bush? My head is splittin' and I'd like to go to bed."

"I'm not at all pleased to see you goin' out socially so much and havin' such a gay time."

"Aunt Mad! You've always been first to say what's past

is past! What do you want me to do, huddle in my black shawl and nurse my grief?"

"Fd a sight rather you did that than cover it all up as if Adam never meant the snap of your fingers to you."

"Cover it up! I—"

"All this frantic rush, your giggles and gaiety. It's as if you're trying very hard to hide from yourself. I'll bet you have never just given in and bawled over Adam. Now, have you?"

"No," said Dulcie angrily. "Nor will I. He could have found me—not left me to save my own life on that Godforsaken—horrible—" Her voice trembled, and she had to stop.

"What makes you think he didn't try? Why do you believe he is dead?"

"He is! Edmund told me how he died."

"I'll admit I believed him at first, and I cried a lot over it, but now I'm not so sure. Dear, that Mr. Revanche is—"

"I know you don't like him, so don't start criticizin' him! You're bein' unreasonable. Aunt Mad, and I don't want to hear it!"

"Goodness me, you needn't get shrill. What exactly did Mr. Revanche say that made you believe him?"

"He mentioned the Green Swamp, and Adam has a friend there, Tom Pierson. He spoke of the saltworks, and I know about them from Adam. He said two women— Aunt Mad, you know how women cluster around Adam like flies around a honeypot. Then he—he m-mentioned—" Dulcie bit her lips. She was very near to crying, and she could not, for it would destroy her.

"Claudine," Mad filled in smoothly. "I'm sure there are several in the South with that name."

"He said she was little and skinny and that she died for him! Oh, Aunt Mad, it was Claudine. She was in love with Adam, and I was a-afraid—Claudine—^you don't know how she used to sneak out—"

"Of course I know, dear," said Mad placidly. "I'd have sent her home from Europe if I could have. So you were afraid. Afraid of what?"

"To leave her alone with him! Afraid I'd never be enough woman for him. I couldn't trust—I didn't know how to!" Dulcie's tears were flowing now, her words only partly intelligible. "We left her in Nassau. I was goin' to

free her, send her away when we got back—and then . . .**

Mad stroked Dulcie's hair. "There, dear, let it all out."

"And I was on Andros—with savages—and—Lu-Luci-fer. I was so frightened, and I needed Adam so. Oh, Aunt Mad, why? Why did he leave me there?"

"That wretched Mr. Revanche has made you think all this!"

"Edmund is so ... he .. . it's almost as if he had seen Adam. Everything—it was so like Adam. I even asked if he had been there."

"I still don't think one man's story is proof," said Mad stubbornly.

Dulcie sobbed. "If he is alive, why doesn't he come for me? I loved him so much, Aunt Mad. All I ever wanted was him! He could have found me. He knows you and Uncle. Even if he couldn't find me on Andros, he could have come here."

Mad awkwardly patted Dulcie. She didn't quite know herself why she was so insistently on Adam's side. She thought of the times she had seen them together: on the Tunbridge, talking intimately together, and in each other's arms outside Dulcie's cabin; playfully sparring at the theater; at the ball, when he had tried to protect her and then taken her vidth him. Perhaps it was no more than the fact that Mad believed wholeheartedly in the power of love and couldn't conceive that what she had seen between Adam and Dulcie could die. "Perhaps he did come here. Perhaps OUie and I were away—^we were! We went to Canada last year, Dulcie. I'm sure Adam must have come and—"

"Aunt Mad! Adam is dead. I know he is dead. He's gone! Oh, Aunt Mad, I'll never love anybody else the same way. But I can't go on lovin* a ghost. I can't always go on hopin' for somethin' that isn't there. Edmund has shown me that. I don't want to be a widow for the rest of my life." She took a deep breath. "I've decided to marry Edmund Revanche. In April."

Mad, horrified, whispered, "Dulcie—^you can't!"

Chapter Twelve

Throughout November Adam slowly regained health. Once the worry of a constant life-and-death crisis was over, Zoe and Rod were drawn more to one another. Nearly every day they quarreled and made up. Zoe felt by turns either bullied or entirely feminine. In the space of a moment she could shed years of responsibility and care, appearing before Rod as a young girl naively eager for his affections.

Rod behaved little more sensibly. He prided himself on his sophistication, his knowledge and savoir-faire. Yet he found himself waiting nervously for her to appear at sup-pertime, gazing at her diffidently, seeking a response in her eyes.

The days ran through their fingers like raindrops, peculiarly combining the renewal of their love with the vigilant worry over their son's inadequate and slow recovery. The bee stings were healed, the blisters small fading marks on Adam's skin. The infected whip lacerations were healing, but Adam was not well.

He grew stronger, able to sit in bed or in a chair part of each day. He was conscious, aware of people, and certain of their identity, but none of his reactions were normal.

Rod had visited him daily. Neither he nor Zoe, however, knew if Adam realized that Rod's presence in Smithville was peculiar. They were not even certain Adam knew he was in Smithville. After the fever had broken and he was lucid and carrying on a weak but steady conversation with Mammy for several minutes. Rod and Zoe came in to see him.

"Someone is here to see you, Adam," Zoe said softly.

He frowned. "Have you found Dulcie?"

Zoe glanced quickly at Rod, standing beside her in plain view. "No, dear, it's Mr. Courtland. He's come all the way from New York."

"The natives have her. They wanted her for some reason. That's why they drove me off. I shouldn't have let them do it. I should have gone back.*'

"Adam," Rod ignored the rambling. "It's good to see you awake for a change. How do you feel?"

Adam stared, his eyes fearful and troubled. "The bees ... I couldn't—"

"That's over."

"Over . . ." His voice trailed off uncertainly.

"Adam, do you know me?"

Adam looked at him blankly, then laughed. "I ought to! You owned half my ship." Then he looked away, his face troubled again. "She went down in a storm. We were being chased and—Rod—^I left Dulcie on Andros."

"No, you didn't. It's just a nightmare. You've been very ill. The ship went down a long time ago, Adam. Dulcie is not on Andros."

"Yes, she is!" He struggled to rise, then fell back weak and exhausted.

"Don't fret now. We'll have plenty of time to talk later."

"I've got to find her. I shouldn't have let them drive me away."

"You can't sail now. The moon—it's a full moon. You can't sail."

"First dark night," Adam murmured, his eyelids already falling shut.

Rod and Zoe went back downstairs. "He simply accepts me as part of his surroundings, Zoe."

"Maybe if we tell him why you are here, it'll make him—"

"No. This is no time to shock him with any more news."

"But, Rod, suppose he stays like this forever. There must be something we can do. He's always been so bright He'll realize Dulcie isn't on Andros. Or if she is, it would only be her remains.'*

"Stop going over it, Zoe! I don't want you to tell him —not yet. I forbid it!"

"Then what are we going to do?"

"Give him time. He's still living those nightmares. God, I'd hate to be him."

Adam clung to the idea of going back to Andros. He had the fixed notion that Dulcie was merely waiting for him to find her. About that he talked incessantly, but about other things he remained mute. After his single mention of the bees he showed no further sign of remembering. Slowly he regained strength. He became cheerful and coopera-

tive, wanting to spend time with Zoe and Rod, teasing and talking.

Adam said casually, "I didn*t know you knew my mother."

Rod laughed. "Would it surprise you to know I knew her before you did? What would you think of that?"

"I think Ma's been holding out on me. How many other men have you got tucked away in your life?"

"None! What a terrible thing to say to your mother, Adam Tremain!" Zoe smiled. "Oh! You are getting well. I'm leaving before you both gang up on me. Tom is here, so don't tire yourself too much. He'd like to visit with you."

'Tell him to come up. I'm anxious to talk with him."

After visiting with Adam, Tom joined Zoe, Angela, and Rod. "He wants me to go to Andros. Can you imagine running that damn ship of his? But he's got it all planned. Knows just where he wants to land, how long it will take to find Dulcie, and the day he plans to be home again."

"He's asked me the same thing," Rod said. "What'd you tell him?"

Tom rubbed his jaw. "Mebbe I did wrong. I told him I wouldn't go, an' he was a darned fool for thinkin' o' goin' himself. Guess I gave it to him straight. Told him Dulcie was dead—there weren't anythin' for him on Andros."

"How did he take it?"

"I dunno. I expected him to try to knock my head off. That's what he'd usually do. But he wasn't angry or nothin*. Seemed like he expected me to say no. Said it didn't matter, he knew what he was doin' an' he'd find someone to go with him. Ya know, the funny thing is, Adam don't usually want anyone with him. Seems like he's makin' damned sure he never sees that island alone again."

Rod put his arm around Zoe. "He talked to Rosebud, and he said no too."

Zoe lost herself in another world, gazing up at Rod.

Tom grinned. "You tell him about you two yet?"

"Tell him what?" Angela asked.

Tom ruffled her hair. "None o' your business. Didn't anyone ever tell you children are to be seen and not heard?"

"Since I'm no longer a child, that doesn't apply to me. What haven't you told Adam? Are you going to get married? Is that it?"

Rod smiled down at their joined hands. "I don't know. Is that it, Zoe?'*

Tom chuckled. "Well, Zoe, what about it? It wasn't very purty, but I believe the cussed Yankee is proposin'."