The black swan (99 page)

She held out her arms to him; he backed away for every step she took forward. Finally she stood stiU, tears stream-

ing, not able to understand the names he called her, only seeing him retreat. "I love you!"

Adam stared at her, her words more hypocritically searing and hated than Edmund's ring on her finger.

"Fve never stopped lovin' you." Her golden eyes spilled tears.

Adam turned and ran blindly. "Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!"

Dulcie ran after him. "Come back! Come back! Adam! Please listen to me" She splashed through the filthy street heedless of the cold drenching rain.

Adam shouted for Hans.

Dulcie, staggering, ran recklessly after him.

Hans, watching them, moved with purposeful slowness. As Adam entered the carriage, Dulcie grabbed his muddy boot. He jerked his foot away. She slipped in the freezing mud, her face smeared with tears and rain, going to her knees. She held her muddied hands out in supplication. "I do love you. I always will. Why are you doin' this to me? I thought you were dead. Adam—^why won't you come back to me? What have I done?" Her voice broke. "Oh, Adam, please, please don't do this to me. Please. Oh, God, Adam, I can't live without you—"

"Go back to him" Adam snarled, his mind filled with pictures of Dulcie and Revanche, the ring gleaming on Dulcie's fimger. He glanced at her hand seeing the mud-dulled gleam of the emerald against her white skin.

"No—no! Edmund Ued!'»

"Lied? Lied, bitch? Who lied? You'll get a divorce as soon as it can be arranged. My wedding gift to you!"

Dulcie burst into fresh hysteria. "I don't want a divorce! I love you! Adam, all I ever want is you!"

Adam grabbed the whip and laid it across the horse's rump. Dulcie sprang back awkwardly, her slipper sucking deep into the mud as she fell to the street. The buggy wheels sprayed gobbets Of mud and dung over her.

Dulcie picked herself up, brushmg clots of filth off her gown and transferring them to her hands. "Adam . . . Adam . . ."

Jem helped her up the steps. Her rain- and mud-soaked gown weighed her down, wrapped around her legs, and made her stumble. "I saw it all," Jem said. "He's lower than scum, Dulcie Jeannette. Praise God, you're rid of him at last. He's shown you once and for all what he's truly Uke.'*

She jerked away from him. "Let me alone!'* she screamed.

Dulcie entered the parlor like an avenging fury, her hair and clothing dripping water and mud and reeking of the barayard. Her red eyes streamed tears. Oliver stepped back in alarm as she headed straight for an angry, white-faced Edmund.

"How dare you make a spectacle of yourself in a public street—?"

Quick as a cat, she put out both dung-smeared hands and raked her sharp fingernails heavily into Edmund's cheeks.

Edmund cried out in pain and surprise, automatically lashing out, sending Dulcie sprawling into a small table.

Her hand closed over Mad's Jersey Turtle paperweight. Screaming in inarticulate rage, she ran at him, the paperweight tight in her hand as she brought it down on his cheekbone.

Edmund, stunned, grunted in pain, then his face twisted in anger. Blood spurted onto his shirt and pale gray frock coat. He lunged and grasped her hands, squeezing until she let the paperweight drop, then thrust her away, making her fall onto the sofa. His hard, dark eyes never left her, his expression one of deep contempt. He appeared calm as he smoothed his clothing, his hand touching the cut, bruised place on his cheek.

"Mr. Revanche—" Oliver began.

*Take your hands away, sir. I've suffered enough of your hospitality."

"I'll kill you!" Dulcie bounded up from the sofa. She reached out to claw him again. Edmund grabbed her, pinioning her arms across her breast. "You thankless little trollop!" he breathed, his face hating and mean close to hers. "Let me leave you with something to contemplate."

She spat in his face. She screamed, struggling and kicking him. "You drove Adam away from me! I'll kill you! I—"

"You'll do nothing! . . . but listen," he hissed. "I found you thinking yourself a widow, parading around with your little mourning band, enjoying your charade. I gave you life, you bitch, and you've thrown it back."

"I hate you!"

Edmund laughed. "Cherish it, Dulcie. It's all you'll have,

because this time, this time, when I leave you, you will in truth be a widow. You have my word."

"Liar! Liar! Liar!"

His laughter rang in her ears.

"Let me go! Get out of here! I hate you!**

"Hate me, Dulcie, hate me until you're shriveled and worthless to any man."

She let out a strangled scream of rage, writhing in his grasp. Suddenly Edmund released her, watching with cold amusement as she stumbled and fell. Slowly he drew on his immaculate white gloves. "I know the spot where Tremain moors his ship—an incredibly stupid location. From my house atop the ridge I can see every move he makes. A simple, anonymous message to the Federals, and your Captain will be captive the moment he emerges from that cul-de-sac." Edmund walked quickly from the room.

Dulcie threw off her father's restraining hands, shoved aside Oliver, and ran down the hall screaming vilifications at Edmund's back. Suddenly, overwhelmed and helpless, she covered her face with her filthy hands.

Aunt Mad was at her side. "Come on, honey. Let's go back into the house and get these wet clothes off you."

"He'll get Adam killed. He'll do it, Aunt Mad."

"He's nothin' but a liar. Now that we know Adam*s alive, we'll find him."

Dulcie looked where Edmund's carriage had been. "We've got to stop him—stop him right away." She ran, stumbling toward the stables. She would stop Edmund— kill him herself with her bare hands.

Mad shouted at her to stop. Jem and Oliver ran through the rain toward her. The stable doors were shut tight against the wdnter wind. The old groom peered out the window with frightened eyes. Dulcie pounded on the stable door and then the window, her fist hammering the glass as the man drew his head back. Then she leaned against the wall, the bricks digging into her forehead, crying and wringing her hands. Edmund was gone.

They took her into the house. Patricia, very pale, stood at the foot of the stairs. "Oh, baby, youah just all ovah mud!"

"Trish, shut your mouth," Mad said grimly.

"Well, Ah nevah!" gasped Patricia, threatening to swoon again.

"Mad, that's no way to talk to your sister," Jem said severely.

*'God*s blood!" shouted Mad. "Your daughter has had a shock that would be the death of most women, and you're both mealymouthin' over triflesl Ollie, Ollie! Help me get Dulcie undressed!"

"Ah'll help you," said Patricia. She gmgerly took Dul-cie's arm.

Dulcie jerked away. "I don't want you. I don't want anybody! Just let me alone!" She started up the stairs, but her wet skirts wrapped around her legs and made her fall.

While the maid ran the bath water. Mad cut her stinking dress off her. "Into the tub, Dulcie. That's it, Marie, pour the water over her hair."

When Dulcie was bathed and shampooed and her hair wrapped in a towel. Mad held her nightgown for her. "Here it is, dear, nice and warm and dry."

Dulcie brushed it away unseeing. "My habit. Got to have my habit. Most girls would have the sense to stay indoors, but I like the storm." She rummaged in her wardrobe, grabbing a shirt and a divided skirt. "Oilskins," she murmured, rummaging again.

Mad whispered to Marie, who slipped out the door and downstairs.

"Dulcie, what are you goin' to do, dear?" Mad asked calmly.

"Find Adam. He'll understand. Adam understands me. He'll see I couldn't help it. Aunt Mad, where did you put my oilskins?"

"I haven't seen them, dear. I expect they're in Nassau."

"Nassau. That's it. Nassau. He's got to go there sometime. Aimt Mad, I'll go to Nassau. Tell Marie—where did she go?"

"Downstairs. I thought we'd enjoy a cup of coffee."

"Tell her to pack. I'll go right away."

"We can talk about it in the mornin'."

"No. No! I'm goin'! I want Adam! Don't you understand?"

"You're not goin' this evening, Dulcie. Tomorrow will be soon enough."

"Edmund's goin' to kill him! I've got to stop Edmund! What'll I do—I can't even think!" She paced frantically, babbling. "He lied every step of the way—^to the Jeffer-sonians—those letters. Oh, God, God, why wouldn't I see

it? Edmund lied to me. I believed him, Aunt Mad! I stopped believin' in Adam!" Dulcie sank to the floor, sobbing. "I doubted him. All the time he was gone I thought the worst —worst things about him. I didn't want him to be dead. I don't want to live without him!"

"Dulcie—Dulcie! We'll find him, do you understand? We'll find him!"

•'No—he'll never forgive me! Never, never, never!"

Mad bent over her. "Sit up, Dulcie, and let's dry your hair." Briskly she began rubbing Dulcie's damp hair. "Of course Adam will forgive you. He loves you! If he didn't, he wouldn't have come here."

"Never . . . never ..."

Marie came in with the coffee. Mad drank hers. Dulcie set her cup down after one sip. "Amparo," she said accusingly. "You've got Amparo here."

"What's that?" asked Mad.

"Did she tell you to drug me? Did she?"

"You're in New York now, remember? That's all past."

"I'm goin'! I'm not goin' to wait any longer! I've got to get to Adam before Edmund." Dulcie ran to the door, only to find it locked. She pounded on it with her fists, crying Adam's name over and over.

No one in the Raymer household slept that night. Patricia trying to comfort Dulcie said all the wrong things. Dulcie wouldn't let Jem in, screaming at him, "You hate Adam, and I hate you! I hate you!"

When Dulcie tried to leave via the window, Mad sent Marie after Oliver. Dulcie, in the presence of two unruffled people who loved her very much, achieved a measure of calm. But she couldn't sleep. She sat in a chair endlessly rocking and hugging herself.

Sunlight was coming weakly through the windows when Marie knocked.

"I don't want any breakfast," said Dulcie, her eyes fearful.

Oliver, smiling, held out his arm. "You shall serve yourself, Dulcie. Pick out whatever you like."

Dulcie walked down ahead of them. Her mother and father were already seated. Patricia, puffy-eyed, toying with French toast, said, "Good mornin', baby." Jem pulled out her chair, patting her shoulder awkwardly. Dulcie flinched away.

She took portions of everything, but food gagged her.

She sat tensely, her eyes darting, seeking a way of escape.

"I'm going to see if Roderick Courtland is back," Oliver said. "Perhaps you'd like to come along, Dulcie?"

"Yes. Let's go now! Uncle Oliver, hurry!"

"You'll have to dress a little differently," he pointed out.

Dulcie jumped up, jarring the coffee cups. "I'll hurry, I'll be ready, I won't make you ashamed, you'll see—"

"Oh, Mad," Patricia moaned, "What ah we evah goin* to do with mah baby?"

Mad patted her hand. "Don't worry about her, Patricia. She'll manage somehow. Dulcie is a survivor."

"That damnable man—" Jem began.

Oliver said, "Now see here—^"

Patricia's soft voice overrode Oliver. "Jem honey, ahn't you the one who taught Dulcie to think fo' herself? She was doin' just that when she married him, so he must have some redeemin' qualities."

"But he's out of his head!"

"Neither Adam nor Dulcie is in very good condition,** Oliver reminded him. "We'll have to keep watch on her in case she gets the notion of going after him. Perhaps Courtland can tell us if Adam is as wild as he seems.**

Homer Daniels was all attention when Oliver came in, bowing and bidding him good morning.

"Daniels, is Mr. Courtland in today?" Oliver asked.

"Mr. Courtland is out of the city. I'm sure he won't mind my telling you the happy news. He was married at Christmastime."

"Married! Rod?" Oliver chuckled. "Tell me, Daniels, who is the lucky lady?"

"We don't know, sir. His telegram didn't mention the lady's name."

"When will he return? My niece and I must see him as soon as possible.'*

"He didn't say.**

"Mr. Daniels, do you know where Mr. Courtland is?" Dulcie asked.

"Yes—Mrs. Tremain, isn't it? I believe he's in—that's it, Smithville, North Carolina. The telegram came from there."

Dulcie, already pale, clutched at Oliver's arm. "You've been very helpful, Mr. Daniels. Thank you." She walked out and got into the carriage.

"I must send a telegram message, Uncle Oliver. Adam's mother lives in Smithville. That must mean Mr. Courtland must know somethin' about Adam. He's there because something terrible happened to Adam—I know it. I don't mean yesterday. Before that. If Adam were in trouble and Ben or Tom couldn't help, he'd send for Mr. Courtland. They're more than business partners. There's a great affection between them."

"It would have to be strong if a staunch Unionist like Rod decided to go South and stay."

"Oh, Uncle Oliver, I haven't been thinkin' clearly since I saw Adam. But things are comin' clear now. Adam was weak, even sick. Why else would he warn you away? Why back away from me? Why did he look so terrified to see Edmund? I'd expect him to be jealous—^but not frightened."

"Sure you're not imagining, Dulcie?"

"He was frightened of everyone in the room. But Adam isn't a fearful man. Somethin' has happened to make him that way. What?"

"I wish I knew. Possibly he's been captive. Maybe he escaped from prison. Or perhaps . . . Dulcie, has it occurred to you that Adam might not be the man you once knew?"

"I'm not the giddy girl he married either. If he comes back to me—"

"Worse than that, my dear, he may be insane. The way he acted yesterday—if I'd never known him before that— that's what I'd call him."

"If it's true, then he needs me. No matter what he says. I can't desert him now. He has to have somethin' to depend on. Oh, Uncle Oliver, I'll never doubt him again."

Dulcie sent several copies of two telegraph messages. The first, to Roderick Courtland, read: SEEKING INFORMATION ON ADAM TREMAIN STOP URGENT STOP MUST FIND HIM STOP REPLY C/O OLIVER RAYMER SIGNED DULCIE TREMAIN.