Dragonwyck (47 page)

He hesitated so long that passers-by stared at him curiously, seeing in this tall, elegantly dressed man an abnormal immobility.

Two full-bosomed young women in false curls and frowsy lace shawls minced up Broadway, and on seeing Nicholas paused behind him and began to giggle. 'My, ain't he handsome; quite a swell too!' said one voice purposely raised. 'Like an image he stands, don't he! What's he looking at so hard?'

'Admiring of his self in the gutter I should think. Happen he'd look round he might see something else to admire too.' And both girls bridled, tossing their curls, from which floated a strong odor of patchouli.

Nicholas continued to frown at the pavement.

'Maybe he's afraid of girls!' cried the first one archly, still trying.

Of this whole conversation only one word in the last sentence did Nicholas hear. He swung around on them. 'I'm afraid of nothing in this world or out of it!' he shouted, and the girls shrank, stepping hastily backward.

'Lor', mister,' they babbled, 'we didn't mean anything—'

He did not wait to hear their frightened apologies; he walked with headlong, violent steps, jostling those that got in his way, until he reached a shuttered door in an alley off Mott Street. In here he stayed for several hours, and when he passed out again through that door there lay in his waistcoat pocket a small, sticky black ball wrapped in rice paper.

At no time to himself did Nicholas admit the true reason for his hurried trip to New York.

The Mary Clinton's first run was a success in that the boat made excellent time, easily outdistancing the Rochester, its only rival that day. So much so that there was no competition. Nicholas was profoundly disappointed. Jeff had been shrewd in his guess that to Nicholas danger was as voluptuous a stimulant as drugs. Had there been a frantic, pounding race, and had the Mary Clinton won—as of course she would have—then in the pleasure of victorious mastery there would have been less need for the release provided by the black substance in his pocket.

As it was he stepped off the boat onto the Dragonwyck landing, his mood flat and sullen, his frayed nerves crying for more of the opium that had been so long denied them.

Then he discovered that Miranda was not at home.

He mounted the turret stairs, placed the ball of opium in the silver box, but he did not linger in the tower room. He came down and sent for Peggy.

The little maid maintained a terrified but stubborn silence. She had no idea where the missis had gone—to call on one of the neighbors, mayhap. No, she didn't rightly know which one. No, missis hadn't been out at all before this, very likely she had tired with sitting in the house all the time. 'No, master. I don't know where she is.' And that's the Gospel truth, thought Peggy. I don't know where she is or what caused her to rush off like one demented, but I could be making a guess did I want to. She's in trouble and she's fled to the young doctor, but the saints forbid
he
should ever be guessing it, for he's come home in a fine filthy mood for sure.

She limped rapidly out of Nicholas' sight and stationed herself at an upstairs window with a confused hope of warning Miranda as soon as the carriage appeared at the bend of the drive.

But when Miranda arrived at seven, she did not see Peggy's anxious face or futile gestures; she saw Nicholas standing bareheaded by the front door waiting. And at the sight of him whom she had thought never to see again, she had a second of agonizing fear, and then she became calm. She felt now the detachment that Jeff had hoped for, and she strengthened herself slowly, deliberately, muscle by muscle and nerve by nerve, for the conflict that was coming.

'You have had a pleasant drive, my love?' said Nicholas, offering his arm as the coachman opened the carriage door.

'No,' she said. She ignored his arm and walked past him into the house. She turned toward the staircase, but Nicholas with a quick, gliding motion stood in front of her barring the way.

'Strange greeting to a husband you've not seen in three days,' he said softly. A softness which belied the cruel, eager light in his eyes. They missed nothing of her dishevelment. Her hands were still dusty from the attic, as was the little apron she had forgotten to remove in her headlong flight to Jeff. The evening wind and her hastily donned hood had both loosened her hair. The smooth waves were tumbled and one of the coiled braids had slipped to her shoulder.

Yes,' she said. 'I am in disorder. Kindly let me go to my room, Nicholas.'

'Gladly, sweetheart. And I'll come with you. You interest me very much tonight, and you surprise me. I hadn't realized that you could surprise me.' He stepped aside and she mounted the stairs without answer.

How well she knew this snake-and-bird game in which he delighted! Let her dare to escape ever so little from his power and the situation slipped into its appointed groove. He would use sarcasm, his cold, soft anger, and ever mounting within these would be passion, the. knowing subjugation of her body which translated itself into the subjugation of the soul, because she loved him.

Love, she thought, with a violent repulsion. Was it ever love? Can love be cemented in fear?

Together they entered the dark bedroom. Nicholas thrust a taper into the small fire which Peggy had started on the hearth. He lit the candles. He sat down in a chair by the fire and watched her while she poured water into the basin, washed her face and hands. She quickly recoiled her hair, smoothed out her dress. She removed the onyx-and-pearl pin, fastened the neck of her dress with the old hair brooch.

'Aren't you going to change?' said Nicholas. 'I want to see you in something light-colored and gay. Why do you put on that hideous pin? Wear some of your other jewels.'

'No,' she said, rising from the dressing-table and walking to the fire. 'I have a right to no other jewels but this.'

He regarded her with astonishment. She stood a few feet from him in her dark morning dress, extending her numb hands to the blaze.

'Where were you this afternoon, Miranda? The coachman will tell me if you don't.'

'I have no intention of lying. I went to see Doctor Turner in Hudson.'

She heard him make a sharp motion, and turning her head saw in his face an incredulous hope.

'No, Nicholas,' she said with bitterness. 'It's not that. I shall never bear you another child now. Any more than Johanna did.'

At that name the room seemed to spring to a listening stillness. There was no sound but the faint hiss of the fire.

'Why do you say that?' He sprang to his feet and stood beside her.

She reached blindly for the support of the mantel. Don't, said the agonized inner voice. Don't tell him. Maybe you're wrong. Maybe Jeff is wrong. You can't be sure. This is your husband, for better for worse—

'I'm very tired,' she whispered, 'and nervous. I scarcely know what I'm saying.'

The tenseness of his body relaxed. He gave a short laugh. He put his arms around her and pulled her toward him. His lips that had always had power to evoke an answer touched her mouth. She turned her head away, not violently but with a cold finality.

'No,' she said. 'It's finished, Nicholas.' For at his touch the weakness had passed from her. 'I loathe you now, you and myself. And I'm in mortal fear of you—as Johanna was—with reason.'

His arms fell away from her. For a moment his face blurred as though a giant hand had erased his sharp-etched features, dissolving them to blankness. At once they hardened again to watchful wariness. But Miranda had seen in his eyes the unmistakable leap of panic.

'Yes, Nicholas,' she said quietly. You're not as strong as you thought you were, are you! Even you can't break the laws of mankind and God without suffering. Not even you.'

They stood like that on either side the fireplace while a minute dragged by. Then Nicholas moved. 'I don't know what you're talking about, my love.' He turned and walked out of the room.

Miranda waited, her eyes fixed on the door. His footsteps died away. A burnt log fell to pieces on the hearth behind her and she started violently. The sudden noise released a rush of fear. She ran to the bell-pull, tugging at it so that the gold tassel came off in her hand. Again she waited. There was no sound but the ticking of the ormolu clock on the mantel. Ten minutes, fifteen. She opened the door, flinching from the still darkness in the hall, straining for Peggy's step. There was no sound. She yanked again and again at the bell-pull.

The clock gave a tiny gay chime.

She uttered a cry and her hands flew to her breast as she heard a noise from the north window—a succession of light taps. She backed slowly toward the other end of the room, when she heard a faint voice calling. And again a volley of taps on the pane. She slipped through the heavy curtains into the embrasure of the window. Twenty feet below on the ground she saw a white upturned face. Miranda unfastened the catch and leaned out.

'I can't get to you, mum,' whispered Peggy hoarsely. 'I've been throwing pebbles at your window. All the doors between the servants' quarters and your part are locked. And the outside doors too.'

Peggy's face blurred and wavered in the twilight. Miranda clutched the window sill. 'Where is he now?' she whispered, and saw the maid shake her head. The sound of Miranda's voice did not carry downward.

Miranda thrust back the curtain and stared into the room behind her. It was as quiet and deserted as before. She leaned out the window and spoke louder.

'He's in the tower room, I think,' answered Peggy. 'Leastways there's a light. Oh, mum, what's happened?'

'I've got to get out. Tell one of the servants to bring a ladder quickly.'

'They won't budge, mum,' came back Peggy's frightened wail. They're all scared of him. They won't let me in again. Shall I try and get Hans? I'll run to the village.'

'Yes. Hurry—hurry.'

As Peggy vanished amongst the trees, Miranda turned back into the room. She walked to the smouldering fire and put on a log—and another.

A long time passed.

I must get warm, she thought. Somehow I must get warm. I've got to think clearly, but I can't when I'm so cold.

In the dining-room there was a decanter of brandy. Brandy warmed you. She picked up a candle and opened the door into the hall again. Except for the pounding in her ears, there was no sound. She glanced quickly at the little door at the far end of the hall, the door to the tower stairs. It was shut.

Holding her candle high she ran to the dining-room. She found the decanter and raised it to her mouth, and her teeth against the crystal rim made little clicking noises. After a moment a fiery warmth filtered through her veins. She put down the candle and leaned against the buffet. Her mind cleared. The downstairs windows, of course.

They were locked at night, and shuttered and barred. It took a strong footman to attend to this, but nevertheless she could manage somehow. Or there was that little outside door in the music room; perhaps he had forgotten to lock that.

She picked up the cut-glass stopper, reached out her hand to put it back in the decanter when she heard a sound upon the stairs. The stopper slipped from her fingers and fell to the parquet. Her impulse to blow out the candle and run wildly was checked by a surer instinct. She stood and waited by the buffet.

Nicholas walked in and stopped just beside the doorway, staring at her with bewilderment. 'You are making merry, Miranda?' he said incredulously. 'I heard you laughing and playing the piano.'

She saw the abnormal brightness of his eyes and the quivering of the muscle in his cheek. Slowly courage seeped back into her. She lifted her head.

'Do you imagine that I would laugh or play tonight! You've been drugging yourself, Nicholas.'

His gaze slid from hers and there came over him an uncertainty. He stood with his head thrown back as if he listened for something.

'Why did you lock the doors?' she said.

He dragged his eyes back to her face, but he did not see her.

'I heard you laughing down here, Miranda. I heard the piano. It was very clear.'

And suddenly she understood. There was a current of fear in the shadowed dining-room, fear and hatred. But the current no longer touched her. It flowed past her to the dark, motionless figure which stood by the doorway.

'I believe it was Azilde that you heard, Nicholas,' she said quietly. As your child heard her on the night that Johanna died. She's laughing because there's disaster coming again to this house that she hated.'

'You're lying,' he said. 'It was you I heard.'

'No,' she said.

At her denial he took a quick step toward her. She saw his right hand go to his pocket—and a gleam of silver metal. She did not move.

'Yes, I'm quite helpless,' she said. 'You can do me any injury you like. Bur you won't get away with it this time, Nicholas. Too many people know. Peggy knows that you've locked me in. And Jeff Turner knows about Johanna. He's going to the Governor to tell him.'

His hands slowly fell limp at his sides. She saw the effort he made for control, saw his face compose itself into a semblance of the old assurance. 'My dear, you're full of sinister allusions and melodrama tonight. I can only assume that you're having an attack of female vapors.—And now when you add ghosts—'

He broke off so abruptly that it was as though a knife had cut his voice. He turned his head slowly in the direction of the Red Room.

The candle on the buffet dimmed and flickered.

He's hearing her now, thought Miranda, watching his appalled face. She stood frozen by the buffet, watching. She could hear nothing but the harsh noise of his breathing.

He put out his hand, groping for support on the top of the high walnut chair at the head of the table. His own chair. 'You hear it?' he whispered. You hear it too?'

She shook her head.

He made a quick gesture as though to close his ears to the sound of that high, mindless laughter. In that moment she felt pity at the expression of his eyes.

She clasped her hands and her lips moved soundlessly. 'Under His wings shalt thou trust: His truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night...'