Dragonwyck (20 page)

Even when she's sick she thinks of nothing but eating, thought Miranda contemptuously, and passed downstairs to call Katrine for her lessons.

The schoolroom was bright with a fire on the hearth; snow piled up softly against the windows, though the wind blew with diminishing force. The two blonde heads, flaxen and amber gold, were bent together over a scrawled slate when the door opened. Nicholas walked in and the child's round eyes repeated Miranda's astonishment.

'How nice to see you—Cousin Nicholas,' she stammered. 'We—I was just correcting Katrine's sums.' It was the first time he had ever entered the schoolroom. And her amazement was increased to see a trace of uncertainty in his manner. She felt that he had wanted to say something to her, but that now suddenly he had changed his mind.

He walked over to the window, stood a moment staring out toward the gray river which was nearly hidden by eddies of snow.

'Is the child doing well?' he asked without interest.

'Oh, yes. She's learning fast. She's good at figures. I think she's ready for a textbook on arithmetic. Perhaps we could send to the city—?'

Nicholas glanced at his daughter. Her cheeks were flushed, her fingers whitened with pressure as she nervously clutched her slate pencil. He gave a short laugh.

'Why bother with a textbook! A little addition and subtraction are enough for
a girl.'

Still further bewildered by the bitterness in his tone, which seldom betrayed any emotion, Miranda said timidly, 'It—I suppose it must be disappointing that you have no son.'

A peculiar expression ran over Nicholas' face. 'I do not brook disappointments,' he said, and going to the fireplace held his hands out to the blaze.

She colored. It had been presumptuous to mention such matters to him. But did he mean that he would not allow himself to feel disappointment over the failure of an heir to carry on the unbroken Van Ryn line, or did he mean that he and Johanna yet might—?

The pain that shot through her at this unfinished thought rushed her into speech.

'I think it'll stop snowing soon; I mean there seems to be a lightening in the west.'

'I trust so,' said Nicholas. 'Or the doctor will be delayed.'

'Doctor?' she repeated blankly.

'Certainly,' he answered with increased coldness. 'Mrs. Van Ryn is ill, and I have naturally sent for a doctor to attend her.'

The girl was hurt by his tone as well as by his saying 'Mrs. Van Ryn.' It was as though he were deliberately putting her in her place.

'I didn't realize that Cousin—that Mrs. Van Ryn was that ill.'

Nicholas did not answer. He deserted the fire, walked with quick restless steps back to the window. He jerked together the heavy portières, turned back into the room, and said to Katrine: 'When you are through with your lessons go to your mother. You pay her little enough attention.'

'Yes, Papa,' said the child. She hesitated, then overcame her awe of her father and asked, 'Will Doctor Hamilton let me play with his chiming watch like he did last year when I had measles?'

Nicholas frowned. 'It won't be Hamilton who's coming. I've sent for Doctor Turner.'

Miranda raised her head quickly. Why? she thought. Why that Turner, who is a boor and a down-renter? There were other doctors available besides Hamilton.

Jeff, in Hudson, when he opened his door to a stable boy in the Van Ryn livery and received the summons to Dragonwyck, had wondered the same thing. He had made a rueful face at the snowdrifts and thought of refusing. But curiosity had won, curiosity and a feeling of gratification. If Nicholas had so much faith in him as a doctor as to overlook their clash, he might well be generous too.

Jeff saddled his horse, and lashing his carpetbag full of pills and instruments to the cantle, plodded away after his guide through the snow.

It was dusk by the time Jeff reached Dragonwyck village. Lights from scattered windows looked warm and comforting. The parsonage in particular gave an impression of cosiness. The Dominie, Mrs. Huysmann, and three of their children were gathered around the lamp on the center table, which was covered with a cheerful red cloth. As Jeff's tiring horse walked past the window he noticed many homely details, a moon clock on the mantel which chimed five times, an iron kettle steaming on the hob beside the fire. The pastor's pinched face looked relaxed. He peered benevolently over his spectacles at his wife, who was mending a small pair of breeches while a sleepy baby leaned against her knee.

It must be pleasant, thought Jeff, shivering in his greatcoat. A scene like this to come back to after long hours in the saddle. Instantly he pictured Faith in the place of Mrs. Huysmann; the babies that would be with them were nebulous, but there was nothing vague about his reconstruction of another scene. Faith and himself upstairs in a billowing feather bed shut in against the world. Here there would be warmth and vitality and comfort.

Tomorrow, he thought, I'll ask her.

The horse dragged himself up the last long slope and stumbling a little on his snow-packed shoes rounded the bend before Dragonwyck.

In the twilight the great pile of stone looked gigantic as its turrets and gables loomed against the dark sky. The portieres had all been drawn and no light showed. Here there was neither warmth, vitality, nor comfort. It's evil and unhealthy, this place, thought Jeff. It belongs to a dying age.

Though he was the most practical of men, Jeff had an instinct of repulsion so strong that he very nearly turned his horse before they reached the porte-cochère. He could ask for shelter at the parsonage or at one of the farmhouses—and give what excuse for having covered all those miles to no purpose? thought Jeff, angry with himself. Ridiculous fancies, my lad.

Besides, there was a sick person inside who needed him, and this call Jeff would never deny.

He banged the silver door-knocker. At once the door was opened by Tompkins.

'Good evening sir. I fear you've had a nasty ride. They've been expecting you this two hours.'

Jeff blew on his fingers and advanced to the farther end of the long hall, where there was a fire. Firelight and candlelight did little to relieve the effect of luxurious gloom. Jeff pulled up his coat tails and tried to warm his chilled legs.

'I hope Mrs. Van Ryn's not very ill,' he said. 'How's she feeling now?'

'Better, I think, sir. But my lord has been anxious for you to come. He's always so solicitous for his lady's health.'

Is he indeed? thought Jeff. He couldn't picture Nicholas as a solicitous husband. But he might be wrong. With unusual humility Jeff admitted to himself that he didn't understand these people.

Tompkins ushered him upstairs and Magda received him at her mistress' room door. Johanna greeted him sulkily.

'I can't think why Mr. Van Ryn didn't call Doctor Hamilton as usual.' She held out a fat hand, which she withdrew at once, letting it fall to the bed as Jeff touched it.

'I'm sorry, ma'am,' he said with some embarrassment. 'But I'll do my best to cure you.' And he proceeded to make a thorough examination, undetetrred by Johanna's grudging co-operation, or by Magda's disapproving eyes.

Except for the heavy cold there was nothing wrong with Johanna. Considering the vast bulk through which it was required to pump blood, even her heart was in good condition.

'Nothing to worry about, ma'am,' he told her cheerfully. 'Take these drops three times a day, and a bit of scraped onion in sugar for the cough. You'll soon feel right. One thing more, though—' said Jeff, seeing a sodden pile of nibbled sweetmears on the bedside table, 'The diet should be light for a few days. Gruels and tea, a boiled egg or so. Nothing more.'

He was dumfounded at the anger which transformed her face.

'What nonsense!' she cried. 'Everyone knows one should stuff a cold. One must keep one's strength up!'

'Why ma'am,' said Jeff temperately, you won't lose strength in a day or two in bed, and it's wise to rest the digestion.' He felt inclined to laugh at the violence of her reaction to his simple directions.

Johanna's mouth set stubbornly. "I shall eat as I please,' she said. 'Magda, be sure they are making that tipsy cake I ordered, I'm longing for it.' Her little eyes threw Jeff a look of defiance.

Jeff shrugged his shoulders. He had an inkling of the true state of affairs. Eating was to her the greatest sensual satisfaction. Baulked of other passions, she had gradually poured all her desires into one channel. It's a form of lust, he thought with pitying distaste, and in itself a disease.

'Your cold will mend faster without the tipsy cake,' he said. 'But it will mend anyway.' This was a fool's errand he had come on, and he wished very much that he were snug at home and within reach of really sick people who might need him. He cast around for some remark with which to close the fruitless interview. His eyes roamed over the frowsy room, lighting on the most attractive thing in it.

'What superb flowers!' he said pleasantly, pointing toward a low shrub which stood in a cloisonné pot upon the large table. The blossoms, which grew thick as red stars amongst the long green leaves, gave forth an agreeable fragrance. The anger faded from Johanna's eyes.

'It's one of Mr. Van Ryn's Persian oleanders,' she said slowly. 'He had it brought here today to brighten the sickroom. It is pretty, isn't it!'

She spoke in a curiously strained voice. Evidently the patroon did not often trouble himself to bring his wife flowers, thought Teff, and in truth, were I married to this lump of suet, I wouldn't either.

He smiled vaguely, agreed that the shrub was pretty, and retired from the room.

On his way downstairs he passed Miranda, who was standing at her own door. The girl gave him a cold nod and a resentful glance from the corner of her long beautiful eyes. In the green dress trimmed with cream lace at the throat and with her lightly poised head and undulating walk she put him in mind of a valley lily. He returned the nod as coldly, annoyed by her continued hostility.

A hostility not shared by Nicholas, he discovered when his host came forward to greet him downstairs. The patroon was at his most charming. He listened attentively to Jeff's account of his wife's health, saying at the end: 'Yes, I'm sure you're right. The cold is already breaking up, but it's well to be sure that the lungs are not affected nor any sudden complication threatened. Don't you think so, sir?'

Jeff agreed and added brief mention of his efforts to reduce Mrs. Van Ryn's diet.

'Did she agree to that?' asked Nicholas.

'Indeed not,' laughed Jeff on a rueful tone. 'She ordered a tipsy cake instead.'

There was a short pause, then Nicholas said, 'Ah, yes, I fear my wife is very much given to the pleasures of the table,' and he smiled indulgently. The smile and the tone were just that—indulgent, the half-pitying, half-amused attitude one has toward a wayward child.

Natural enough, and yet deep in Jeff there was a little psychic tremor, a faint unease. He looked sharply at his host and the tremor disappeared. The smile on Nicholas' handsome face seemed genuine. His startling blue eyes expressed nothing but courteous interest in his guest.

Jeff enjoyed that evening. A guest room had been prepared for him and Nicholas overruled his objections to spending the night. It would have been folly to set off on the long ride back at that hour.

Miranda joined them at supper, and though at first the girl was very quiet and constrained she gradually responded to Nicholas' conversational brilliance as Jeff did.

It was a species of magic that their host made that night around the damask-covered table. He told them stories of his travels in Europe, using rich and vivid words so that they saw the castle on the Rhine where he had met the mad countess, or the dingy alleyway in Florence where his purse had been stolen. He spoke of events nearer home, the coming of the Croton water to New York two years ago, when the populace went mad over the fifty-foot fountains of free water which gushed from the new-laid pipes. Or he told them of the theater, the delirious night when the divine Fanny Elssler mislaid her ballet slippers and danced 'La Tarantule' in her stocking feet to the accompaniment of a pelting of roses and love notes from the ecstatic audience.

But Nicholas did more than simply dazzle those two who knew nothing of Europe or the theater. It was in no sense a monologue. Using that most subtle of all flatteries he constantly included them and their opinions.

He described the divine Fanny's costume and appearance. 'She wore white, you know, though many thought red or green would have better suited her brunette beauty. What do you think, Miranda?'

Or to Jeff when telling of strange customs or food he would ask, 'How does that seem to you from the medical side?' and in each case listened intently to the answer.

They were at once stimulated and relaxed. They were scarcely conscious of each other, both concentrated on their host.

It was nine o'clock when he rose from the table and Miranda, seeing that the evening was ending, gave a sigh of disappointment which Jeff inwardly echoed. Nicholas had made him feel important and brilliant, and Jeff was too human not to have enjoyed it.

'I'm going up now to see Mrs. Van Ryn,' said Nicholas.

Jeff uncrossed his legs. 'Shall I have another look at her?' he asked without much enthusiasm.

'No. I'll call you if I think there's a reason,' and Nicholas left the room. Miranda's eyes followed him.

'Yes,' said Jeff, noting her expression, and laughing. 'I must admit that he can be very charming.'

She blushed, bringing a bemused gaze to his face. 'You do see it now, don't you?' she said. 'How wonderful he is—and—'

'Never mind,' said Jeff crossly. Though he felt more admiration for Nicholas than he had ever expected to, he didn't relish that look in the girl's eyes.

'I can't think why you always treat me like a child!' she cried indignantly.

Jeff pushed his chair back. 'I'll spare you the obvious answer.' As she flounced from the room, he thought that it would be a great satisfaction to spank her. His palm tingled.

He went upstairs ro his bedroom, took off his coat, and put on the dressing-gown which he found laid out for him. It was of yellow brocaded satin with velvet reveres. He fastened it gingerly and looking at himself in the great pier glass burst into laughter. His sandy head, heavy neck, and hairy chest looked ridiculous in that elegant garment. 'Fine feathers'll never make a fine bird out of you, my lad,' he said, and sat down by the fire to wait in case Nicholas summoned him. An hour passed and nothing happened, so he clambered into bed.