The Black Swan

by Day Taylor

  Adam grinned. "Considering the lady's charms . . ."

  Courtland's deep blue eyes sparkled impishly. "God bestows his gifts more lavishly on some than on others. Yes, well—enough of that." He pointed to Long Island Sound. "You'll sail in here, around Centre Island past Brickyard Point. Directly north is an abandoned manor house. Since it overlooks my dock area, I'll let you know about the tenants if it is taken."

  To Adam an abandoned mansion seemed minor in an area of navigationally troublesome peninsulas and cul-de-sacs. Courtland's route made a landlocked hook, starting south in Oyster Bay, curling north again in the waters enclosed by Mill Neck, Oak Neck, and Centre Island. Along the south, a mile and a half from Courtland's home, lay the main body of Long Island. "I'm aware of the lengths to which you've gone to help, sir, but . , . once I'm in these waters, I can be cut off and helpless—^"

  Courtland jabbed at the sheet. "Here's Jones. Here's Pace. Van Meter. Maring. Crane. Van Loon. All good neighbors, all seamen, whalers, and smugglers. Others, like Baldwin here, are on my payroll.'*

  "My pardon, sir. As usual, you've planned carefully."

  "Protecting my investment, Adam. That includes you." His eyes met Adam's. Embarrassed by the emotion generated, he added gruffly, "I have a caretaker couple—^Hans and Cateau. Hans is a former seaman, tough as they come. Both work with the Underground. I know you don't like sailing into these waters, but—"

  Adam smiled easily. "I'd make a very scared blockade runner if I ran up the white feather every time I sensed danger.'*

  Rod nodded once. "It's clear to you, then?'*

  "Perfectly. One or two more details and I'll be on my way. I've ordered another ship from Collie."

  "Do you need a bank draft from me?"

  "No, this time it is all mine. I just thought you should know. Watson, Collie's agent, has promised it to me in six to eight months."

  Rod gave him a leng, smiling, speculative look. "I envy

  you young men. You take terrible risks with your lives, but a few runs through the blockade and you're wealthy. I am eager to see what you do after the war.*'

  Adam shrugged, embarrassed at wanting to share with this man something he'd kept a private vision. "I have an idea of helping to build the South into what it could be. Start a shipping line, perhaps, or factories. A one-man revolution." He smiled wryly. "If I live."

  "Just don't get careless, Adam. Oh, say! I have a message for you. You remember Oliver Raymer's niece? He had a telegram from her. She's to arrive any day. You're to be sure to look her up."

  Adam looked away. If Dulcie was coming here, she would not be in Savannah waiting for him. He had said that only she could prevent their marriage. She apparently had decided. This time it was for good. He would not dangle on a string for any woman. He rose. "Thank you for the message, sir. I'll see you in a couple of months."

  "She may be here tonight, Adam. I saw Raymer last week, and I know their names are on Lewis's guest list Look for her."

  Adam shook his head as he picked up his coat.

  Rod put his hand on Adam's shoulder. "Adam, don't be a fool like I was. Don't let her get away if she means anything to you."

  "I had no say in the matter. Dulcie decided to end it between us. It's just as well, though," Adam said briskly. "All's she's ever meant to me is trouble. I could use a lot less of that these days. Good-bye, Rod." He took the oilskin packet and strode into the ballroom, leaving the safe open.

  Officiously attendant, the Lewises' butler entered the study, emptying the ashtrays and righting the precise angle of the chairs Adam and Rod had vacated. His eyes riveted on the open safe. Hurrying, he went back to the ballroom, watching Adam as he moved with grim haste and stayed suspiciously near the wall, excusing himself from all society with the guests.

  Impatiently Adam wove his way through a group of chatting men. Everything had conspired to delay him. Having to meet Rod here in downtown Manhattan took him miles from the Liiberty's anchorage. He'd arrived at the Lewises' late and would now be late getting back to the ship.

  "Adam! Adam!" A lithe form in a white-embroidered

  silk taffeta gown deserted her partner and flew across the ballroom.

  Adam stopped short. "Miss Moran! Lately of Savannah, I believe. Fancy seeing you in New York."

  "I can explain everythin'l Uncle Webster—" Interested eyes surrounded them. "Let's go somewhere. We can't talk herel"

  "No, we can't. I am already several hours late." He tried to step around her, but she grabbed his arm, making him drop the oilskin packet.

  "Adam—please—you must listen! You don't understand!"

  With a muttered imprecation he stooped swiftly to retrieve the charts.

  Dulcie screamed. Adam whirled at the sound of a shot.

  "Stop that man!" A second shot rang out in the marble-floored ballroom, whistling over Adam's head and lodging in the heavy oak front door.

  "Stop him, I say! He's a spy! He's robbed the safe!'*

  Dulcie jumped to Adam's side, ready to defend and stand by him. Around them women were screaming, running with zigzagging steps to their spouses. Potted palms tumbled in the flurry of skirts. Bold gallants, too old or infirm for real war, searched through coat pockets for weapons to bring to bay the vicious Southern spy.

  "Stop him! He's a Rebel spy!" resounded in the chaotic room. Most were not certain which of the men in black dinner dress was the spy they were to capture. Others converged on Adam.

  Instinctively, faced with pistols and men who had drunk too much to be sensible, Adam grasped Dulcie tightly. In his other hand he clutched the oilskin packet. Catlike, he backed through the door. Nearing a group of women grimacing in collective horror, he began to run.

  "Stop, or I'll shoot!"

  "No! The ladies!" The shot rang out. The room became a hell of piercing screams and scrambling figures. The huge, candle-lit chandelier crashed to the floor, throwing the small burning candles in frenzied sparking paths across the dance floor. Ladies hastily jerked up heavily hooped skirts before they caught fire. The men fought their way through the chaos trying to extinguish the flames before the house caught fire. Adam and Dulcie ran through the door.

  "Stay by the driveway. Once they've calmed, go back

  and act as though nothing happened," Adam shouted as he ran for his carriage.

  "I'm comin' with you!"

  *'No!" The carriage driver joUed to attention as Adam vauhed to the seat.

  "Adam!" she wailed, her heart in her voice, as she lifted her enormous skirts, running after him. He told himself she wouldn't run far. Then another shot sounded. He hung onto the seat rail and reached out for her. She grabbed his hand, and as the driver whipped up the horses, she managed to get into the carriage, falling to the floor, her hoops blocking Adam's view. He pressed them down out of the way and looked behind them.

  "Ohh!"

  "Stay down, or we'll both get shot! They're coming after us and shooting at anything that moves."

  "I'm not goin' to stay on this filthy floor!"

  The carriage gathered speed. Dulcie, helpless in her finery, bounced around as the wheels jolted over the bumpy streets, careening and skittering around corners. Then she felt Adam's boot in the small of her back.

  "Stay down! They're shooting!"

  Over the noise of rocks and mud that slammed against the underside of the carriage, and the deafening rumble of the wheels, Dulcie could barely hear. "There he goes!" "Shoot the horse! Slow him down!"

  The carriage lurched. A scream of pain sliced through the clatter. Then they were streaking in a runaway carriage, crossing lamplit streets at a dead gallop, crashing into garbage barrels, sometimes running over the piles of refuse that lay along the sidewalks.

  Behind them, all around them, wild shots thudded into buildings and broke windows. Police whistles shrilled. Running feet pounded. Horses' hooves clattered recklessly on the cobbles. Facedown on the floor, her ears drumming, seeing dizzying glimpses of shadowy buildings and cross streets, Dulc
ie hoped their careening ride was taking them to safety.

  Half a block away a fire engine was bearing down on them, clanging its bell aggressively. Its six horses were straining as they galloped full tilt, their eyes showing white and their nostrils flaring as their driver plied the whip. Around the horses' hooves ran three Dalmatians, accompanied by a score of baying, yapping curs. The long, heavy

  steam pumper swayed dangerously. Men and boys ran alongside, crying, "Make wayl Make way!"

  Adam's horses were galloping at top speed, out of control. If Adam's driver couldn't stop them, the two vehicles would crash at the intersection. With six large horses against the two smaller, the lethal tonnage of the pumper wagon against a flimsy open carriage, he and Dulcie would certainly die, mangled beyond recognition in a totally senseless accident.

  The driver was out of his reach, past Dulcie's billowing hoops. He lunged, his long body bridging Dulcie as he grabbed the driver's waist, pulling back as the driver sawed on the reins.

  The horses veered unexpectedly, went one on each side of a lamppost, and came to a lurching halt. The driver was flung over the rump of a horse. Adam slammed against the driver's seat, then was thrown back. In front of them the fire engine rumbled unchecked across the intersection, pursued by its stream of dogs barking, men, and children all yelling.

  "Dulcie I Are you all right?" Adam shouted, trying to find her beneath the tangled mass of hoops and silk. He leaped from the carriage. "Give me your hand!" They had to get across the intersection before the next pumper engine passed.

  "Adam, I can't! I'm stuck!"

  He dragged her backward out of the carriage, avoiding the wheels as the panicky horses reared and lunged. Her skirt caught and ripped, but she was free, standing shakily beside him, her hair wild, her arms scraped and bruised.

  He grabbed her hand. "Run!" She pulled free, bendmg down. He grabbed her again, and they ran, clumsily, her hoops swaying against his legs. "Hurry up! Damn those contraptions! They'll get us both killed!"

  "Let go! I can run better without you!" She scooped her hoops up and sped through the break in the traffic only a step behind him.

  The street was thick with carriages, running pedestrians, mounted policemen, and running dogs and children. Their pursuers would be stopped for several minutes by the tangled carriages. But he still had to get them to the ship, several miles away at anchor.

  Dulcie ran beside him valiantly, taking three steps to his long-legged two. He pulled her into a deep doorway. She

  clung to him, her breath coming hard, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Trouble though she was, she had spirit and fire.

  He grinned at her appreciatively. Then he frowned. "Oh, Christ!"

  "What's the matter?"

  "I left the danmable chart! I'll have to go back!'*

  "I picked it up!" she panted. "It fell out of the carriage."

  "Good girl!" he said inadequately. "Now, if we can find a horse!"

  He found several carriages tethered near the Happy Tymes Tavern. He was untying the animal when a rotund, slightly wobble-legged man came out of the tavern, heading directly for them. "Damn!" Adam muttered. Bewildered, the man looked at Adam, then at his horses. "Hunting your carriage, sir?"

  "Ain't this it?"

  "No, sir. They all look alike, you know.** Adam smiled ingratiatingly as he led the man to another vehicle. Like the best of footmen, Adam secured the man in his seat, tucked a leg blanket around him, then hurried back to Dulcie. "Let's get out of here before the old coot realizes he never had a driver in his life."

  He lashed the horse and took off at a run. The streets had quieted now. He looked over at Dulcie sitting tensely beside him. "Do you see anyone?"

  "Not a soul." She giggled, slipping her hand under his arm, her cheek resting against him. "I always wondered what it would be like to be your wife, and now I know. It's bein' a horse thief."

  He found himself laughing uproariously. "Miss Moran, whenever you're nearby, all hell breaks loose. Is it you, or what?"

  "/ didn't cause this! If you'd taken me along when I asked you in New Orleans, none of this would have happened!"

  "Then I should have taken you ... I did!" He laughed again.

  Now that they were together, in spite of plans gone awry and dangers left behind, their hilarity bordered on the hysterical.

  "Oh, Adam, what if I hadn't gone to the ball? I almost didn't!"

  "And what if I'd met Courtland at his brownstone? I almost did!"

  "What if you hadn't bent over to pick up the chart when that man shot at you I" She shuddered against him.

  He squeezed her tight. "Dulcie mea, why were you in New York and not waiting in Savannah? Have you changed your mind about me?"

  She burrowed against him like an insistent kitten wanting to be petted. "Never. Never I Adam, I love you. I want you, no matter what.'*

  "The last time I heard you say that, I got trapped into a proposal.**

  She sat up, no longer pliant. "I did not trap you into anj^in'l I merely"—she gulped, not having the right word.

  Adam laughed. "Whatever it was, I liked it. So, Miss Moran, the moment we board the Liberty, we'll have Ben marry us.**

  "Why?"

  "Why!? What do you mean, why?**

  "I certainly won't become just another of your charities!**

  "My charities! What in hell do you mean by that?"

  "I mean I'm not goin' to be married out of obligation— just to keep your conscience clear.'*

  He looked at her sidewise. In a formal tone he said, "Miss Moran, I do not wish to shock you with my precipi-tousness, but I should like to call your attention to the fact that for several reasons not at all clear to me, I love you very much. And because of that, and not some damn-foolish idea of obligation, I am asking you to become my wife."

  Dulcie looked at him, her eyes holding his.

  More sdftly, he said, "Dulcie, I need you. Marry me.**

  Chapter Eighteen

  Beau was stalking around the dock when they arrived. "God Almighty, Adam, what happened to you?" He stopped short as he saw Dulcie, bruised and disheveled. "Dulcie?" Beau looked appealingly to Adam. "Adam? What—?**

  Dulcie giggled, "Good evening, Beau," she said pleasantly. "Fine black night for an ocean voyage, isn't it?"

  "Christ! You're both crazy as loons! Is she comin' with us?"

  Adam grinned. "It's a long story.'*

  "I'll bet. Jeez, Adam, I never know what's goin* to happen when you're around this girl."

  "This time I'm going to marry her."

  Beau stood open-mouthed, then grinned. "Yee-hool Welcome aboard, Dulcie!"

  It was barely two hours before daylight. Once the congratulations had died down, Adam took Dulcie to a cabin. "Please, just stay in one place," he said urgently. "I promise I'll be back as soon as we're clear."

  "It's so dark, I can't see a thing."

  "Don't light a lamp or even a match. You could get us spotted by some Federal. We'll be lucky to get out unseen as it is."

  Dulcie waited, not in the least convinced there was need for all the precautions Adam demanded. They were moving furtively past black shores, lined with blacker trees and occasional small shacks. She heard the engines turning, the paddlewheels slicing the water. She strained to hear commands, but heard none.

  It was an uncomfortable, eerie feeling to slip through the night chancing obstacles, risking discovery, hoping, heart in mouth, that luck would ride with them one more time. And Adam went through this every trip!

  Accustomed to the darkness now, she could make out shapes: the bed, a washstand. There was water, soap, and towels. When Adam returned, she would be fresh, smelling of soap, with her hair neat . . . and wearing what? Her torn and dirtied dress hung on her like a rag. Well, she'd wear her petticoat. It was attractive, the nearest garment to a nightgown she had.

  If she hurried, she could have a basin bath all over. She wished Claudine was there to undo the forty small silk-covered buttons down the back o
f her dress. She reached around, found a loop and tried to undo it. After an irritating struggle she got one button free. If only she had a buttonhook. There, another one free. In a few minutes, with aggravating setbacks, she had undone those she could reach.

  This left twenty buttons just below her shoulder blades.

  Maybe if she took off her hoops and turned the tight-fitting dress around? The tape that held her hoops up was tied with one of Claudine's hard knots at the back. Nothing would move. She was stuck in her clothes.

  Adam came in and locked the door. His arms found her, pulled her near. His fingers ran over the silk neckline. "You're not very eager, little one." He tugged gently at the bodice. "I had hoped . . ."

  "Oh, Adam! I can't undress myself! I can't get out of my buttons or hoops or—"

  He burst into laughter, then pulled the gown. Buttons popped and flew around the cabin, bouncing along the floor.

  "Don't!" she cried frantically. "I don't have anythin' else to wear!"

  His mouth was on hers, his hands pulling her dress to shreds.

  "Oh, not my petticoat too!" She did not know this Adam, this laughing exultant rapist.

  He skinned the straps off her shoulders, and her breasts were loosed into his hands. He caressed them greedily, then tugged at the tape that held her hoops fast. He unsheathed his knife. Her hoops collapsed to the floor. Petticoats and pantalettes followed. She stood naked as he shucked off his uniform. She looked at him with glowing eyes.

  He smiled and reached for her. Bracing himself against the bulkhead, he put his hands under her rump, pulling her off her feet, entering her without preamble. Dulcie felt his heat within her, urgent, driving, demanding. She was helpless in his strong arms, her body opened to him, her own passion rising, soaring like a kite on the wind. He kissed her deeply, his tongue filling her mouth as his heat grew and throbbed. She ground against him, wanting him in her as far as he could go, wanting him to press her tighter and tighter to his body, wanting ...

  "Ohh . . ." she moaned. Her pulsations reached a delirious, unbearable peak and went on. Groans escaped Adam's lips as he drove into her convulsively, embracing her with trembling arms until his own storm had passed.