The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  "I'll be the first to tell you, you have a mind the equal of any man. I might say a bit more devious, but daughter, I wonder if it's what you want."

  Dulcie raised her chin. "Women have to be devious, or they'd never get along. You saw how far honesty got me with Adam."

  ' The slow days became weeks. Every Monday Dulcie visited Courtland's office, to be told there was no news. Each time she wore one of her new, carefully designed outfits.

  After each visit, she sent another telegraph to Adam. Occasionally she sent messages in care of Eraser Tren-holm: PLEASE COME TO ME AT OLIVER'S STOP I NEED YOU AND WILL WAIT STOP.

  Each telegram became more difficult to send, each trip to Courtland's office required more mental preparation to endure. At the beginning she made her trips uptown expecting to see Mr. Courtland, expecting him to aid her, then hurried home expecting that Adam would be waiting for

  her at Oliver's house. Now the face of hope required she put on more makeup and strain her cheeks in greater and longer-lasting false smiles. Hope became more slender and more difficult to trust, but she clung to what little she had, making the greater effort, never allowing a minute of the day to find her downcast or pessimistic. She became the perpetually gay optimist, spending her laughter and her flirtations with the abandon of a larcenous keeper of the mint.

  Finally there came a Monday when she could hardly force herself to leave the house, so overwhelmingly tired of being cheerful was she. It was a March day when the snow sagged under the onslaught of a cold, driving rain, a day when fireplaces and hot tea and heavy shawls were not warm enough, when even gaslights could not dispel the gloom that sulked in every comer.

  But she could endure giving up no better. An hour later, dressed carefully in a camel-colored silk suit, Dulcie was pushing open the door with Roderick Courtland's name painted on it in bold black letters. Mr. Daniels gave her the wary look she had come to recognize. On other days she had shrunk from the officious, long-suffering smirk, but today she smiled brightly, as she had learned to do and raised her voice to its bright, sociable level, her golden eyes fixing Mr. Daniels in his place like a butterfly for inspection. "Good day, Mr. Daniels. Have you heard from—"

  His face showed relief. "Mr. Courtland has returned, Mrs. Tremain.'*

  Dulcie's legs threatened to buckle under her. At last— after all the trying and the waiting, he was here. "Then announce me. I must see him."

  "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Tremain. That would be impossible. If you had an appointment—"

  "An appointment! I've been comin' here regularly, and I won't be turned away today. If you were any secretary at all—"

  "I am not a secretary, ma'am, I'm a—"

  "What does it matter what you are! You should have made an appointment for me. I must see him, and I will!**

  Mr. Daniels cleared his throat. "Be seated, Mrs. Tremain, I'll ask him if he can spare you a few moments."

  Dulcie, too nervous to sit, tears threatening and thoughts in a panicky jumble, paced in front of the high counter.

  Half an hour went by, and Mr. Daniels had not returned. Seething with anger and humiliation, she paced faster until a sheen of perspiration covered her upper lip. She made herself sit down, forced herself to remember Mr. Courtland had been away for a long time and would naturally be busy. Her attempt at reasoning lasted only minutes, then she was on her feet again. She'd tell Mr. Roderick Courtland—supposed friend of her uncle, supposed gentleman—a thing or two about his office and his Mr. Daniels and his own behavior toward a ladyl

  Her breath catching, she sat down again. She couldn't do that. He was her only link with information about Adam. She'd be charming—the loving, worried wife. At least until she got the information she needed.

  At last Mr. Daniels returned. "Mr. Courtland will see you now."

  The handsome man behind the desk rose and bowed, but his manner had no warmth. "Good morning, Madame. Daniels says you have been inquiring as to my whereabouts."

  Dulcie smiled brightly. *T certainly have! Why, I was beginnin' to think you had left the country."

  Rod noted her high color, her nervous brilliance, her beauty, and was moved by none of it. "I don't wish to be rude, Madame, but this is a busy day. Daniels said your business was important."

  "Yes," Dulcie smiled winningly, her eyelashes dropping to shadow her eyes. "I'm sure it sounds silly to you, but I assure you it means a great deal to me—even though I am embarrassed havin' to come to you and—^"

  "The matter, Madame, what is it?"

  Dulcie stared at him. Why should he be angry? If anyone had a right to be angry, it was she! She tried to quell her own anger and disguise her acute embarrassment. "I wish to know where I can reach Captain Tremain. When do you expect him in port? Or perhaps you can tell me if he still uses Nassau as a base?"

  There was a look of sardonic amusement on Rod's face. "Captain Tremain? Madame, you have come to the viTong man, and certainly for the wrong purposes. He is your husband, is he not?"

  Dulcie felt the heat mount in her cheeks. "All I'm askin' from you is information, which, as his partner, you must have."

  "My partnership with your husband does not extend to his personal Hfe, Madame. If Captain Tremain thought it best to absent himself from your comfort, that is his business, and I will not interfere. If this is what you wished to see me about, you have wasted both our time."

  Dulcie's hand shielded her eyes as she bit back tears. "Please, Mr. Courtland—you don't understand. I must find Adam. We—we had a terrible misunderstanding and—"

  "I don't want to hear your private business! I suggest you see your priest or minister. This is a place of busi—"

  "Will you at least tell me if he received my telegrams? I've been sendin' them—oh, but you wouldn't know." Dulcie fiddled with her gloves, drawing them on her hands, then removing them again. "Mr. Courtland, my uncle, Oliver Raymer has spoken so highly of you—and so has Adam. Won't you please hear me out? I know you're an important man, and busy, but it is vital to me." She looked at him appealingly. "Perhaps even to you. I know Adam is upset, and if I could just see him to explain, then every thin' would be all right again. I am sure he would do a much better job for you once we have settled our differences."

  Rod's eyes glittered, "Do go on, Madame. I find this fascinating. Please, do tell me how you expect to make a better man of Captain Tremain."

  Dulcie laughed. "Oh, I didn't mean quite all that. It would be a bit presumptuous of me, wouldn't it?"

  "It would, but don't let that deter you. What is it you want of me?"

  "Only that you tell me how I can see Adam."

  "I've already told you I won't do that."

  Blushing prettily now, as she had been taught to do as a young girl, Dulcie glanced at Rod from beneath a fringe of dark lashes. "I can see a lady must tell all with you, Mr. Courtland. It was all so silly. I hate even to talk about it. There was a misunderstanding between my husband and me. We were shipwrecked. I—I thought he was dead. And then I met a man—Edmund Revanche. Of course, I didn't love him, but he asked me to marry him anyhow. Well, he was at my uncle's house one afternoon and—and Adam just showed up. Well, you can imagine my joy! Here he was—and after all that time I had nearly died of grief and loneliness thinkin' him dead. There—was a terrible scene. Edmund, of course, was stunned, and I'm afraid he didn't handle it well." Dulcie talked on, not noticing the warning

  flash in Rod's eyes or the hard line of his mouth. Brightly in her best party voice she chattered on.

  Rod's head nearly burst as he heard her description of that afternoon Adam had walked into the Raymer house. If he heard her speak Edmund's name once more in that soft, slow drawl of hers, he'd wring her neck. "Shut your mouth!"

  Dulcie stared at him open-mouthed.

  "Get out of here and don't utter another word.**

  "Wha—Mr. Courtland!"

  "Leave, Madame."

  Suddenly Dulcie's temper flared. "Whom do you think you are? My uncle will
certainly hear of this! Perhaps you have returned to your office earlier than you should have, Mr. Courtland. You are not fit to deal with decent people. I came here in good faith—to talk to a gentleman."

  Rod was shaking as he glared across the desk at this young woman, who matched him stare for stare, unintimi-dated and defiant. "Do you have any idea of what decency is, Madame? I doubt it, or you wouldn't have come here with your gamin ways and your flirtations to tell me of a slight misunderstanding between yourself and—and my son!"

  Dulcie took a step back, her hand on her frantically beating heart. "Your son?" she breathed. "But you can't be! Adam's father was Paul Tremain. They hated one another. He—he—"

  "Paul Tremain was not Adam's father. I am.'*

  "Ohh. But I didn't know. I thought—"

  "I question that you have ever thought, Madame. Perhaps it is time you did."

  "But I—I don't know what to say."

  "Then try listening. Sit down, Madame. It is time someone enlightened you to what you are and what you have done." Rod paced, talking with great animation and anger, telling Dulcie everything he knew of the time Adam spent on Andros, his trip to Mossrose, his'search for Jem and Patricia, his search for Dulcie.

  "Do you think that I didn't search for him, Mr. Court-land?"

  "Where, Madame? Tell me to what lengths you went to find your husband."

  "I wrote—everywhere I could think of. I wrote to Mrs. Tremain, and to Ben. I tried to see you. I did all I could!"

  "And made certain that all the while your own precious hide was well clothed, well fed, and warm!"

  "You have no right—"

  "And found yourself another man to take his place as fast as a snake sheds an old skin!"

  "I won't listen to this! I didn't know what Adam went through! I didn't know he searched for me! And how do I know now that you are tellin' me the truth? I was told he was with—was with my maid and they were—they were closely associated. There are many things you simply do not know, Mr. Courtland. I am not so black as you paint me. It wasn't easy livin' as I had to live to survive. I could tell you—"

  "Sit down! I'm going to tell you!" Without mercy Rod launched into the long history of the animosity between Adam and Edmund Revanche, sparing Dulcie no detail of the beating of Tom or the death of Ullah or the attack with the bees on Adam. "And now, you little hussy, you have the audacity to come to my office to tell me you had a slight misunderstanding with my son! It was because of you Edmund Revanche set those bees on him. But for an old swamp hag and two darkies, Adam would be dead, and Revanche would be bedding the grieving widow. Now, Madame, leave this office before I assist you out the door!"

  Dulcie, bewildered and frightened, looked at him in stunned silence. "No . . ." she whispered. "You're lyin' to me . . . You're lyin'. It's not true."

  "I don't lie, Madame.'*

  Dulcie's face was gray. "He loved me—^*'

  "Yes, he loved you. I hope it is in past tense. You've done enough."

  Her eyes would barely focus. "Is—^is he all right now?" she asked inanely, remembering the gaunt, wasted man who had greeted her in Oliver's house, then turned on her with fear and hatred.

  "What difference can it make to you now?'*

  Pathetically she looked up at him. "I love him, Mr. Courtland. Oh, don't say anymore! I know! I know! Everything you said about me is true! I—I won't ever try to see him again. I promise." She dabbed at her eyes. "Mr. Courtland, please—if you ever see him again, tell him— please tell him—I didn't know—I didn't know. I never wanted to hurt Adam. He's ... I love him. But I'll never go near him again. You're right. I've done nothin' but hurt

  him. I didn't mean to. I . . ." The tears came down in streams. Everything that had happened to Adam had happened because of her, because he loved her, because he risked anything and everything to find her. And she had distrusted him and had sought solace in a sham marriage with Edmund Revanche, a man she should have recognized as despicable and hateful. But she had wanted to survive, to fill a life devoid of Adam with some substitute, and she had fooled herself into believing that Edmund's bargain was an extension of Adam's dream. Her stomach churned in self-hatred as she thought of the mockery that was.

  Dulcie swayed, sweat running down her face, the room going gray.

  Rod hesitated, baffled because he could not ignore the sincerity of her self-loathing and her love for Adam. Confused and moved to compassion, he put his arm around her shoulders. "Dulcie . . ." He led her back to her chair, then brought her water. "Drink this. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you." ~

  Dulcie shuddered and removed his hand from her shoulder. "Don't touch me! How can you stand to touch me! You know what I am, what I've done!"

  "No! No, I was wrong. I don't know if I can help you and Adam. But—let me think about it. Let me see if there is anything I can do."

  "No! I don't want you to tell Adam! Nothin'! I must be goin'. I—"

  Rod forced her to remain seated until some color returned to her face.

  "I'll drive you home, please. You can't go this way," he said. "Forgive me, Dulcie. I'm a bumbling old man who has become a father to the man before he knew he had a child. I had no right to talk as I did."

  "You are not a bumblin' old man^ Mr. Courtland, and lyin' now to save my feelin's won't help. What happened was for the best. Who knows what greater harm I might have done Adam if someone had not stopped me?"

  Rod ran his hands through his hair. "Why can one never undo what has been done?"

  Dulcie murmured sadly, "I wish it were possible. Goodbye, Mr. Courtland."

  "I'll see you home."

  "I'd rather be alone. You—you've given me a great deal to think about. Please—understand. I need to be alone."

  "But you'll come back? I—I would like to know you better, Dulcie. I misjudged you badly. I'm sure there is something we can do. After all, what chance has a man against his wife and his father?" Rod asked with false cheer.

  Dulcie managed a smile. "What chance indeed." ^

  Dulcie asked the carriage driver to take her through Central Park. She was pale and abstracted, muttering to herself, "I didn't know. God forgive me. God forgive me. God—God—God—"

  By the time she reached home, she had no recollection of having ridden through the park or anything else that occurred after she left Rod's office. Nothing was important now. Nothing. No one. Her mind was blank. She entered the house, spoke to Fred, and went directly to her bedroom. After staring out at the slushy street for a long while, she sat down at her desk and took up a steel-tipped pen. Dipping it occasionally into the ink bottle, she wrote a few short letters, one to her aunt and uncle, one each to her parents.

  Last of all she began a page

  My dearest Adam,

  Perhaps you will never see this, but it will ease my heart to write it. I have just seen your father and from him learned of the abysmal wrong I have done you all unknowing. Although it is far too late to beg your forgiveness, I will need it if my soul is to rest anywhere except in purgatory. Be assured I have loved you dearly, beyond all circumstances of parting and misunderstandings, and that my love for you will surround you even beyond death.

  I cannot tell anyone save yourself the things I am about to reveal. Read them carefully, my dear one, and try not to judge me too harshly. I have wanted to live, to find you again, and so I have done many things which were repulsive to me and contrary to my nature. I make no apology for myself. These acts had to be done, and by me, and I did them.

  I first became conscious, after the Independence went down, in the hut of Mam'bo Luz, a voodoo priestess.

  Dulcie went on for page after page, telling Adam of her year on Andros, not leaving out Justin or the drums that echoed in the two locked rooms. She told him of meeting Edmund and of giving up hope after hearing Claudine's name mentioned with his death. She conveyed as well as she could the shock of seeing him again only to be parted, and the worse blow from Roderick Courtland.

  She concluded<
br />
  My love, I wish you a happiness in the future that you and I were never destined to know. Try to understand me, and judge my circumstances along with my actions. Do not be bitter, my dearest one, for I am not. Think of me kindly if you can.

  Yours throughout eternity, Dulcie Tremain

  She sealed the letter and propped it up with the others on her desk. She cleaned the pen and laid it straight. She had left her kid gloves out; she straightened the fingers and put them away. Everything else was neat.

  Dulcie went into the bathroom and ran the deep lavatory nearly full of hot water. Rolling back her sleeves, she plunged her hands in up over her wrists, and kept them there until they were quite hot. She reached into the medicine chest and took out Jem's razor and let it warm in the water. Perhaps when she used it, it would not hurt so much.

  It did not. She scarcely felt the cuts across her wrists. She stood there dreamily, feeling the water grow colder, watching it turn quickly from pinkish to brilliant red.

  It was late in the afternoon. Mad and Patricia were laughing when they came in the door. "Ah decleah. Mad, Ah'm chilled to the bone. Ah'm goin' to change mah clothes befo' Ah make mahself sick. Wheah's Miss Dulcie, Fred?"

  "Upstairs, ma'am. She's been in her room since before lunch."

  "Oh, that po' chil', Ah wish Ah could think o' somethin' to amuse her. Evah since she saw Adam, she's just gone fathah an' fathah into a de-cline."

  The bathroom door was closed, but there was no answer

  to Patricia's knock. She pushed the door, but it was stuck. She shoved hard until it gave slightly, and peered around the edge. She saw the deep marble lavatory filled with blood and the straight razor. Dulcie lay on the blue and white tiled floor, blood all around her. Patricia began to scream.

  Mad, with Fred following, dashed up the stairs. Patricia clung to the doorframe. "In theah—on the floah."

  Fred managed to push open the door, and Mad slid in behind him. "Mother of God," she knelt by Dulcie, her knee in a pool of blood. "Where is it all comin' from?" She took Dulcie's hand, and more blood flowed. Mad saw the cuts. "Oh, no!" Frantically she tried to stem the bleeding with her hands. Dulcie's blood flowed over Mad's fingers.