by Anya Seton
'Ma foi, he is like a young king,' whispered die Count, leaning over to her. Though I have never seen a king so 'andsome.'
'Oh, yes,' she whispered back enthusiastically. 'He is like a king, isn't he! No wonder they all admire him!'
The Count suppressed a smile. He was not sure that all the peasants who filed past depositing their geese and their sheep and their vegetables were as worshiping of Nicholas as Miranda was. He had noticed sullen looks, and some of the faces had not responded to the patroon's undeniable charm and rather condescending graciousness. But they kept on coming docilely enough. And the kermiss was now in full swing on the far lawn: the young people were jigging back and forth to the music of the fiddles. The carrousel, propelled by a white horse, was crowded with children and twirling merrily. Mug after mug was filled with beer, and the sweetmeats counter with its sugared olykoecks, its seed cakes and rock candy had to be continually replenished by servants running to and from the great house. The bowling green was extremely popular, and beyond it by the privet hedge which separated the kermiss from the forbidden grounds near the house several boisterous games of knuckle bones were in progress.
Scarcely a half dozen farmers were left, and Miranda, whose interest had slackened a little, was wondering if it would be all right for her to join in the kermiss, which represented far more gaiety than she had ever seen in her life, when she jerked around, startled by a small commotion.
A tall farmer of about thirty stood defiantly below the platform, his hands in his pockets, his under jaw thrust forth.
'Klaas Beecker, two bushels of winter wheat and—' began the bailiff, then checked himself angrily. Take your hat off to the patroon, man.'
Klaas raised his grimed red hands and jerked his hat down on his head. 'I take my hat off to no man. I'm a free American citizen.'
The bailiff swelled, his fat belly quivered. 'Take your hat off or I'll knock it off. And where's yer rent?'
Klaas turned his back on the bailiff; his small narrowed eyes fixed themselves on Nicholas' face with a malignance that frightened Miranda, who had not the vaguest idea what it was all about. The Count hitched his chair forward, delighted at this interesting incident in rather dull proceedings.
"I've brought ye no rent, Nicholas Van Ryn,' said Klaas harshly, 'nor will ye ever again get so much as a grain of wheat from me.'
Nicholas' eyebrows raised a trifle; except for a slight tightening of the lips his expression remained as calm as before.
'Indeed?' he said pleasantly. 'And do you propose to farm my lands, and enjoy the many privileges which I allow you, without making any return?'
Klaas's face contorted, he made a violent gesture and turned to the small group of farmers who were yet to follow him.
'Do you hear him, friends!' he shouted. 'The damned patroon! He talks of his lands. 'Tis my own farm he talks of, 'twas my father's and his father's before him. For nigh two hundred years the Hill Farm has belonged to Beeckers, and he dares to call it his.'
The men he addressed shifted uneasily, one of them nodded, another clenched his fist, but they all kept a wary eye on Nicholas, who said softly: 'But it happens that it is my land and always will be, no matter how long you have been there or intend to stay. Nor may you stay unless you pay your just rent.'
'By God! This is the blackest injustice that ever was. We've paid the worth of the land many times over in rent and ye know it. There ye sit lolling in your easy-chair grinding out of us the pitiful little results of our sweat that we may keep the lands that rightfully belong to us. I'll stand it no longer, I tell ye, and there's many another who feels like me. Ye'll find out, my fine young squire!'
'Klaas, be reasonable, man,' interposed the bailiff with a frightened look at Nicholas. 'True, ye cannot actually take title to the lands, but look what the patroon does for you. The church he has built, and the mill, the market boats he runs so you may sell your stuff, the doctor he sends when you're sick.'
'Faugh!' The farmer filled his mouth with spittle and aimed it directly at the platform. 'He does nothing for us, ye fat nincompoop, that we could not do better for ourselves.'
The ball of spittle landed on Nicholas' shoe. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his shoe, and tossed the handkerchief to the ground.
'Ye crazy fool,' cried the bailiff, really alarmed. 'Have ye nc sense at all, no gratitude? Don't you know what will happen!'
'Hush, Dirck,' said Nicholas, raising his hand. He rose and faced the little group of farmers. The corners of his nostrils were white and sharply indented. 'You will all be glad to know that since Klaas Beecker feels this way, he need no longer be troubled by living on my land. He will leave the farm tomorrow morning. Doubtless he and his family will find lands to suit them in the West where they won't be bothered by rents or laws.'
A stifled gasp ran through the listeners. Klaas choked. His defiant face crumpled. 'Ye—ye can't, ye wouldn't turn me out like that overnight, Mr. Van Ryn. Why, we've no place to go.' He wet his lips and swallowed. 'I—I was born on that farm, ye know that, sir; ye couldn't be so cruel hard, Mr. Van Ryn.'
Nicholas looked down at his shoe, then up at the farmer. 'Since you are dissatisfied here, you will doubtless be happier elsewhere. You may apply to Duyckman after the kermiss. I shall authorize him to give you some gold pieces.'
The man's face twisted, turning a dull red. 'I don't want no charity, I—I won't go. Ye'll see. I've got friends—ye'll be sorry for this. We'll break up your damned manor—' His voice trailed off as Nicholas looked through him; he shuffled slowly back to the wagons. After a moment he picked up the reins and his horse started wearily down the road.
There was a dead silence around the platform, then Nicholas spoke. 'Will the remaining tenants come forward with their rents.'
The men did not look at each other but came quickly. Gebhard, a cousin of Klaas Beecker's, was empty-handed. The bailiff cleared his throat. More trouble. Miranda leaned forward anxiously. How could they treat Nicholas like that when he did so much for them, watching out for their interests, providing them with this beautiful kermiss? It was so unfair. Wicked, vulgar men, she thought angrily. Surely this Gebhard would not also refuse to pay his rent.
Nor did he. He stood uncertainly a moment before the platform, shuffling his hobnail boots and staring at the ground while Nicholas waited. Then, still not looking above the base of the platform, he removed his hat, and mumbled something about an accident to the farm wagon and added: 'I'll bring the stuff tomorrow, sir. If that will suit.'
'Certainly,' said Nicholas. 'That will do very well. I've no wish to be hard or unreasonable. Will you call the others from the kermiss, Duyckman. I want to say a few words to my tenants, as usual.'
The bailiff bustled off and lumbered amongst the merrymakers, The patroon is going to speak. Come to the platform, all of you.'
They straggled up reluctantly, loath to leave the fun, but they came. They gathered around their lord as they had been accustomed to do and as the manor tenants had always done.
Nicholas, looking down at their faces, was reassured. There had been rebellions before on the manors, small ones, quickly dissolved. This new unrest would be equally easy to handle by a blend of firm authority and tactful kindness.
There could be no real disaffection amongst them. They were his people attached to his land. They felt for him an affectionate loyalty, just as he felt for them a paternal responsibility which embraced their physical and material welfare, and, if necessary, their discipline. The discipline he had administered to Klaas, and he knew that word of this had run through the group. It was time now for a lighter, more sympathetic note.
So he bowed to them and began: Tenants of Dragonwyck, I am more than happy to welcome you all today, on this glorious anniversary of our nation's independence, and I won't keep you long because I know you're anxious to be back at your sports and games. Whenever you feel hungry I hope that you won't hesitate to help yourselves. My servants will supply you with food and there are tw
o sheep roasting on the spit behind the carrousel.'
'Our own sheep, very like, thanks for nothing,' murmured a feminine voice near Miranda, who looked about indignantly but could not identify the speaker. She could not tell whether Nicholas had heard or not, for he went on smoothly and, to her, very mov ingly to talk of patriotism, the beauties of their country, its superiority to all others. Tor I have traveled in many, and have a basis of comparison,' said Nicholas. He went on to assure them of his interest in their welfare, telling them that he was always ready to help with their problems 'It is surely unnecessary for me to enumerate the great advantages that you as manor-tenants have over the strutting and insecure little farmer who has an empty title to his "acres. It would never even occur to me to mention this were it not that I've heard that a few misguided men on other manors have seen fir to render themselves ridiculous bv masaueradine as Indians in calico nightshirts and trying to inflame the tenantry against their landlords. I know you all, your staunch integrity, your sense of fitness, too well to fear that any of you could be inveigled into any such childish mummery. So I'll say no more about it.'
He ended with a few more sentences wishing them health and happiness and directing them to enjoy themselves well at the kermiss.
There was a spatter of handclapping, one quavering cheer, 'God bless the patroon,' but for the most part they flocked silently back to the kermiss ground.
Miranda saw the suppressed dismay in Nicholas' face, and she grew warm with sympathy. She did not know that he was remembering former times when his father's speeches had produced a frenzy of cheers and foot stampings, a passionate surge of loyalty.
The manorial system was bred in Nicholas. He saw in it no inconsistency, no aspect which anyone might legitimately criticize. It annoyed him that they did not realize that the very modest rent payments which he required were only a symbol and a hereditary custom. Certainly their poultry and vegetables represented no valuable revenue, whatever they might have done in his great-grandfather's time. Nicholas, thanks to real estate holdings in the city and thanks to the pleasing way in which wealth begets wealth in a developing country, was a very rich man.
His tenants were of no financial use to him whatsoever, rather the contrary in fact; but he would have cut off his right hand rather than sell one piece of his manor, though since the Revolution there was no longer a law forbidding him to do so.
He watched them all enjoying the music and games which he had provided, glutting themselves on his beer and food. Then, turning, he met Miranda's eyes. She lowered her lashes quickly, having already learned that one did not offer sympathy to Nicholas. At once his own eyes resumed their characteristic opaque blueness and his mouth thinned to its usual line.
But he had not resented her sympathy. He smiled slowly and took her arm. 'You must be tired, Miranda, we've all been up so long. Wouldn't you like to rest awhile so that you will be fresh and very beautiful tonight?'
She did not want to rest, she wanted to join the kermiss, but she shivered a little at his unaccustomed touch, and the new caressing note in his voice. 'I'm afraid I could never be very beautiful, Cousin Nicholas,' she said, looking at him through her lashes with the first hint of coquetry she had ever used, 'but perhaps it would do me good to rest.'
Nicholas kept her arm as he helped her from the platform and he bent down and said quickly, 'I believe you're far more beautiful than you realize.'
The Count, trailing along a little behind them, heard this and thought, So—Monsieur, we are waking up a bit. Matters are progressing faster than I expected; and he yawned, for the sun was hot.
He looked at them both as they walked together, the tall slender man with his dark head and the tall slender girl with her fair one. They both moved with much the same fluid grace. They made a striking couple. It's a pity, thought the Count, that it can never be. Then he ceased to think at all. He wanted his dinner.
That evening when Miranda had completed hours of excited preparation for the party, she revolved before her mirror and her heart swelled with a new sensation of power. All of Madame Duclos' clothes had been successful, needing but a touch here and there from the girl's clever fingers, but the rose satin ball dress was a triumph.
The hair brooch looked well enough on the blond lace which filled in the low décolletage, though Miranda no longer thought the brooch as elegant as she once had. Before she pinned it to the lace she gazed at the interrwined strands and felt a faint pang of homesickness. But they all seemed so far away, and a letter yesterday from Abigail had told her that they were well. Miranda had tried to feel interested in the news contained in her mother's stiff, inarticulate sentences—Buttercup had calved, lightning had struck the old elm by the well the Ladies' Missionary Society was to hold a quilting party. These things were remote and unimportant It seemed to Miranda that there was no connection at all between the girl who lived in the little farmhouse and this dazzling creature in rose satin who was going to a. banquet—and a ball.
How lucky I am! she thought, vainly powdering her cheeks, which were unfashionably flushed with excitement. The excitement was increased when a footman knocked on her door and presented her with a bouquet of flowers specially ordered by the patroon: rose-buds, tiny mauve orchids, and maidenhair fern. How like him! she thought joyfully. She had been longing for some ornament to put in her hair.
She fastened a nosegay on either side her face above the ringlets, and sewed the rest to a velvet band for a bracelet; then, sure that she could hold her own with any fashionable lady, she gave a last tug to the precious hoop, lifted her shoulders, and undulated into the hallway. The sliding doors between the Green and Italian drawing-rooms had been opened; both of these great chambers, the library, and even the small Red Room were filled with people moving to and fro meeting each other chatting a moment and passing on to other groups.
Johanna, enthroned in a gold chair near the entrance to the Green Drawing-Room, was behaving with unusual animation. A tall man with ginger-colored whiskers bent over her flatteringly while she flirted her fan and smiled and talked with an archness Miranda would have thought impossible. The Lady of the Manor was overpowering in yellow brocade especially chosen to set off the most splendid of the Van Ryn jewels, a ruby pendant set in a sunburst of seed pearls and diamonds. They were all admiring this jewel, the man with the ginger whiskers and several other ladies and gentlemen who came up to pay court to the hostess. Miranda, standing helplessly in the doorway not knowing what to do, heard them all begging for the history of the stone which had come from India to Amsterdam in the seventeenth century, and complimenting the wearer ori its becomingness. Indeed Johanna did look unusually well tonight impressive rather than gross Once she turned her head and her eyes rested for moment on the unhappy girl in the doorway who was suffering the painful embarrassment' of the young and uncertain amongst strangers. Johanna neither beckoned her over nor gave any sign of greeting, before turning back to her friends.
Miranda's cheeks grew hotter. Did Johanna mean her to stand all night on the edge of things, an outsider? And with the hurt resentment came envy. For all her physical handicaps, Johanna's position was forever assured, she was a Van Tappen and a Van Ryn, she was Lady of the Manor and on her breast was the beautiful jeweled heirloom that proclaimed the security of her title. The girl looked down at the hair brooch and the cluster of flowers on her own wrist. A passing couple stared curiously as they rustled by to greet the hostess; she thought she heard an acid murmur of comment.
She backed from the doorway with a confused notion of flight, then stopped as Nicholas crossed the hall from the Red Room. Fot a second they looked at each other silently. In a dark blue suit relieved by cascading white ruffles and stock, he was more strikingly handsome than he had ever been, and in that second under his unsmiling gaze her misery vanished.
His eyes were inscrutable as he said quietly: "The flowers become you, Miranda, as I thought they would. Come, I want to present you to my friends.' He paid no attention to her nervo
us protest, 'Oh, no, please, I wouldn't know what to say—' but taking her arm ushered her through the drawing-rooms, pausing at each group. 'This is my cousin, Miss Miranda Wells.'
The faces, some kindly, some indifferent, some appraising and faintly hostile, were a blur through which the names floated disembodied. There were a great many Van Rensselaers, Livingstons, Schuylers, and more which she did not hear at all. The only two who penetrated the blur were Mr. Martin Van Buren, the ex-President, a bald elderly gentleman in plum satin, and his son John, who turned out to be the tall man with the ginger whiskers to whom Johanna had been talking.
These she curtsied to with respectful awe. Her shyness had lessened by the time they had been the rounds, but then Nicholas settled her with a group of young ladies by the fireplace and left her. And without his support she was again at a loss. The three young women with whom he had left her all seemed to be Van Rensselaers; they made a few coldly civil remarks, then sped back to an unintelligible conversation about dear Cornelia's wedding.
She sat ignored and forlorn until Tompkins, red with importance, announced to Johanna that dinner was served. At once a pleasant-faced young man of about twenty-five came up bowing. 'Miss Wells?' he said. 'I believe I'm to have the pleasure. I'm Harman Van Rensselaer.'
She smiled timidly and took his arm, wondering what in the world one said to a dinner partner for hours and hours, and praying that he wouldn't guess that she had never been to a real party in her life.
But she need not have worried. Harman was a lively young man, fond of talk, and the evident admiration that she saw in his eyes restored her confidence.
You're a stranger to the up-river country, are you not, Miss Wells?' he began. 'I hope you like it here.'
'Oh, yes,' she said. 'Though I've seen little of your country yet. I suppose you come from up around Albany?'
Harman shook his head. 'No, I belong to the Claverack branch of Van Rensselaers.'