by Day Taylor
"Then, it'll have to be my carriage, Cap'n. With me in the driver's seat."
Adam swayed. "Hitch up, Hans. I've got to get there as soon as possible. Dulcie—she—she's lost. I've got—"
"I know, Cap'n. I know."
Adam woke up to a gray, rainy dawn. Hans had stopped the buggy, and they were partly sheltered in a grove of bare-branched trees. "What's wrong?" he said, alarmed. "Why did we stop here?"
Hans opened his eyes. "I got sleepy, Cap'n. Well hurry along now." He flapped the reins; the captain looked little better for his six hours' sleep.
"Why keep tryin' to see that man, if you don't mind my askin'?"
"My wife and I were shipwrecked—on Andros. I've got to find her."
"You went down a year and a half ago, Cap'n," Hans said mildly.
"I . . . know what I'm doing."
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, I just thought—God almighty, Cap'n Tremain, you ain't acted like yourself since then. You look like you been through a cider press. If there's gonna be trouble, you ain't up to it."
"No ... no trouble. Her uncle'll go with me. Everything will be fine."
Hans grunted. "Git along, boss!"
The winter rain gusted over them as the horses moved along the rutted, muddy roads. "Had a spell o' nasty weather. Reckon it's goin' hard on the boys in the trenches. Heard the lung fever's pretty bad."
"How much longer 'til we get there?" Adam asked irritably.
"I reckon two, three o'clock. You know it's purt near a daylong trip in winter, Cap'n. Don't you want to rest?"
"No—^just get there."
It was raining hard when Hans stopped in front of Oliver's house. Adam got down slowly, surprised at his stiffness. He was tired beyond reason. Oliver's house seemed miles away, distorted by distance as he walked the few yards to the front stoop. He clacked the lion's-head knocker.
Fred opened the door. "Yes, sir?"
"Is Mr. Raymer at home?"
"Certainly, sir. Come in and warm yourself while I give him your name."
"I don*t need to be announced. He knows me well." Adam walked unsteadily toward the sound of voices. His eyes fevered, he thrust open the parlor door, looking blindly around the room until he spotted Oliver. "Mr. Raymer—^I must talk to you. You're the only one left I can talk to."
Before him was a tableau with all the performers frozen in place, their eyes fixed in amazement on the tall, gaunt man, dressed in a damp, rumpled captain's uniform. Under-his cap his black curls hung in strings. His piratical black moustache accentuated the pale hollowness of his cheeks and his wild, fevered eyes. His movements were jerky, like a puppet manipulated by an amateur.
Adam's gaze fixed on one of the people. Revanche. Oh, God, he had to get away—run. But his legs . . .
"A-Adam!" came a hushed voice. His frightened eyes met the golden eyes—eyes that haunted him in dreams.
With swift clarity every person in the room came into sharp focus. All the people he had searched for were there. All of them. It was another nightmare, fever-ridden, taunting, wounding, laying new scars across old ones.
His breath came out in a horse whimper of awful fear. This was Death. It stared at him out of Dulcie's dead eyes, smiled at him with Revanche's mouth. Adam grasped the doorframe, his legs trembling and threatening to give way.
"Adam—good God, it is really you!" Oliver smiled, his hand out.
Adam backed away. "Don't come near me." His gaze darted to Patricia, who had fainted, and to Jem, who was patting her hands absently. Mad stared at him, her face alight.
"Edmund, let me go!" Dulcie said angrily.
With liquid grace Edmund rose from his seat beside Dulcie. On his face was a courteous, pleased smile. "Captain Tremain," he drawled. "I must say you are quite a surprise—and not wholly a welcome one." Edmund offered him a small, thin cigar. Adam, his back against the door, shook his head. "Too bad. I thought if anyone would appreciate a good cigar, it would be you. I seem to misjudge you on aU counts."
Dulcie came up to the men. With authority and the easy proprietary air of a man sure of his woman, Edmund took her hand, speaking low and firmly in her ear, telling her to leave him to talk to the captain.
"Adam . . .*' Dulcie hardly heard Edmund, her eyes filled with moisture, her words choked and held back by shock and leaping joy.
Edmund moved uneasily, his laughter harsh. Adam slowly raised his hand, his fingertips barely touching the unruly curl at Dulcie's cheek. The room pulsated with hushed, pent-up emotions that threatened to burst into flame.
Edmund broke the silence. "Captain Tremain should be told our news, Dulcie. Arrangements must be made now that he has made his untimely return from the dead. Shall you tell him, or shall I?"
"Dulcie ... I thought I'd never find you again. I thought—"
"Oh, Adam." She tried to go to him. Edmund's hand clasped her wrist hurtfully, making her wince and draw back.
He said, "I see that I shall have to be the bearer of the glad tidings. Dulcie and I are going to be married. Your resurrection is unfortunate. However, you have abandoned your wife for over a year, so I presume we can take that as a statement of your feelings. I feel certain you wiU give us your cooperation in annulling your marriage.'*
Adam listened to Edmund as though hypnotized. Sweat beaded his face. He mouthed, "Married . . . married . . ." He looked at Dulcie's white, strained face. "Bitch! You God-damned bitch!"
"It's not true! Adam! He's lyin'! Don't listen to him!"
Edmund thrust her left hand toward Adam. The emerald and diamond sparkle pained his eyes. "This is the ring / gave her, Tremain. And she will be my wife. There will be no legal problems. You deserted her. I can arrange—"
"Whore," he whispered. "Whore—"
"Here, now. Captain—" Oliver began.
Dulcie pulled away from Edmund. "Please—^let me explain. Let me—"
Adam paid no attention to Oliver, who was trying to _put his hand on Adam's shoulder, or to Jem, who had sprung to protect his daughter. He did not see Jem's gun or Mad screaming, "Don't! Not Adam!" His eyes were only for Dulcie. And his eyes were hot with hate. "You God-damned whore. You put me through hell."
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 s
prayed 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."