Dragonwyck (13 page)

'You
may not, but they will. The lower classes are ever headstrong and stupid; they'll follow any leader who promises them change and power. They use no logic, and you need never expect gratitude, for you won't get it. If you'll not bestir yourselves, I'll do it for you with my pen as a cudgel.'

Along the table there ran an uncomfortable pause. Cooper's last speech had carried, and with the exception of the Count, who was observing everything with detached amusement, and his Countess, who understood nothing, each person there found the author's subject highly distasteful. Bound together as they all were by a kindred way of life and thought, they naturally refused to believe that it could be threatened, and resented any suggestion of such a threat even from an avowed champion. It was impertinent of anyone to imply that they needed championing.

Martin Van Buren stretched his plump legs and remarked: There is indeed much unrest in the country today, but it'll pass, as all things pass. Van Ryn, I never saw a finer show of pinks. I swear they're as big as butter-plates.' He indicated the set floral piece on die table. 'You must send your head gardener over to Lindenwald to instruct mine.'

'With the greatest pleasure,' answered Nicholas, and the company, seizing on the genteel and popular topic of horticulture, relaxed again into casual talk.

Miranda observed that Mr. Cooper rather grumpily returned to his dinner, and she was saved from further conversational embarrassment by Harman's asking her if she would dance the first polka with him.

She colored unhappily. 'I—I should like to, Mr. Van Rensselaer, but I don't know the polka.'

Harman stared at this surprising admission. Where in the world had the girl come from? He knew nothing about her except her Van Ryn relationship. She was delightfully pretty, her manners were charming if a trifle shy and uncertain. She looked like a fashionable young lady, and yet somehow she did not sound like one. He glanced at his sisters. Yes, decidedly, diey borh had a poise and a sophistication that this girl lacked. But what matter! He recovered quickly. 'I can think of nothing more delightful than teaching you, then, Miss Wells.'

Miranda murmured appreciation, but her eyes went wistfully to Nicholas. She had dared to hope that he would be the one to teach her, and she saw now how presumptuous the hope had been.

Nicholas, adroitly applying himself first to the Countess on his right, then to Mrs. Stephen Van Rensselaer on his left, was once more infinitely remote. He never once glanced in her direction.

What, she thought with increasing heartache, had ever caused her to think that they had established a special understanding? One mingled glance, his touch on her arm, a compliment or two. I must have been mad, she thought; of course I don't mean anything to him.

And there was Johanna at the other end of the table, smiling and hospitably urging more pudding on Martin Van Buren, who sat at her right, while pursuing with Stephen Van Rensselaer a discussion of the difficulties encountered in raising daughters. Johanna—the Lady of the Manor, and Nicholas' wife.

The drawing-rooms had in their absence been cleared of furniture in readiness for the ball, so that after leaving the gentlemen to their port and liqueurs the ladies gathered in the Red Room and the library. Seeing that Johanna was settling herself in the latter room, Miranda trailed along after the Van Rensselaer girls, who made for the Red Room.

And at once upon crossing the threshold she was conscious of the peculiar penetrating chill which she had experienced on the first evening and never since. Again she felt that formless uneasiness and oppression—the merest trickle at first but bringing with it the sensation of mounting force as though flood waters were rushing through an ever-widening breach, not touching her yet—but she knew that when they did she would be swamped with the remembered suffocating fear.

So desperate was her desire to circumvent that moment that she broke violently into the conversation of the two ladies nearest her. 'Isn't it awfully cold in here, I mean cold for July? I wonder if I should shut the window!'

Catherine Van Rensselaer from Fort Crailo stopped in mid-sentence and stared at Miranda; so did her cousin Harriet from Claverack. Both young women were handsome brunettes with a decided family resemblance.

'I don't find it cold,' said Harriet stiffly. 'Rather on the contrary. And it seems to me that the windows
are
all shut.'

'Oh, yes, so they are,' babbled Miranda, aware that she was talking nonsense but unable to stop, for the uneasiness was receding as she had hoped. 'Perhaps it'll be warmer in the other rooms when the dancing starts. Yes, surely it will be warmer when we start dancing.' She drew a long sigh of relief. The sensation had vanished, and was replaced by the doubt that she had ever felt anything strange at all. She was left with the unpleasant realization of having made a fool of herself over nothing, and the quick blood flowed up under her sensitive skin.

The ladies exchanged a look. The girl was either very silly or feverish or worse—was it possible that she had had too much wine? With one accord the two Misses Van Rensselaer drew in their billowing skirts.

'Dancing is certainly most agreeable,' said Cadierine, with a vague smile in Miranda's direction; then, having done her civil duty, she turned to her cousin and added: 'Have you cards for the Downings' soiree in Newburgh next week? I think we'll go, for Mr. Downing is most gentlemanly and gives delightful parties, for all that his origin isn't quite—quite—'

'Yes, I know what you mean, love,' said Harriet, 'but after all he married a deWindt, and Mr. Downing's taste is so artistic, he has so much talent for architecture and landscaping that I think we may consider him quite one of ourselves. Shall you be going to the Van Cortlandts' ball?'

Miranda, effectually silenced by this talk of people whom she did not know, listened a minute perforce, because she did not know how to withdraw. But why did they shut her out? She longed so to be accepted on equal terms by all these people. She didn't want to nibble at their fringes, she wanted to be woven into them, stuff of their stuff. At last she escaped upstairs to her own room with a murmured excuse of repairing her dress, to which neither lady paid any attention.

She walked at once to her mirror and consulted it mournfully. 'I
am
pretty, aren't I?' she whispered, 'and I
am
well dressed. What is wrong about me?'

She soon learned. As she emerged from her room into the thick-carpeted hallway, she heard the same two voices she had left in the Red Room. Catherine and Harriet with several of the other ladies had also gone upstairs to do a little necessary prinking. They were in one of the guest chambers, and the door was ajar. Miranda stood transfixed in the hall at the sound of her own name.

'But who in the world is this Miss Wells?' asked a voice she did not recognize, to be answered by Harriet's well-bred laugh, tinged now with annoyance. 'Nothing in the world but a sort of governess for Katrine. Johanna told me so.'

'Yet she seems ladylike, and Mr. Van Ryn introduced her as his cousin,' persisted the first voice.

'One of those poor unfortunate Gaansevant relations, actually off a farm, I believe. Nicholas has befriended her. You know how clannish the Van Ryns are. He's trying to make something of her.'

'Your brother Harman seems to find her attractive, at any rate,' said the other with a touch of malice.

'Oh, Harman likes a pretty face as well as the next man, but there's no danger of his getting involved when he knows her position. I can't think why she should be present tonight: Johanna thinks it most unsuitable. I'm sure my governesses never mingled with guests. The girl's manner is odd too; shows her lack of breeding.'

Miranda leaned her hot cheek against the cool walnut paneling. The hateful snobs! It wasn't like that at all; she wasn't like that. And hard on die first angry impulse that had almost sent her dashing into the room to confront Harriet came an even more disagreeable thought. They had said nothing that was not the literal truth. She was a farm girl and a poor relation, she was a sort of governess for Katrine. As for the odd manner and the lack of breeding—was that true too?

A sick discouragement washed over her. She took three steps toward her own room. She would not go down to the ball, she would stay upstairs. No one would really miss her—even Nicholas; Johanna would be pleased. As for the others, if they thought about it at all they would consider it most suitable.

While she stood there irresolute the musicians below, who had been tuning up, glided smoothly into die music she had learned for Nicholas. 'I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls,' sang the violins. Miranda lifted her head and listened. It seemed to her to be a sign.

I won't go skulking back to my room, she thought, I'm going down. She drew a deep breath, clutched her fan and her handkerchief tight, and descended the staircase just ahead of the other ladies—who came out in a bevy and abruptly stopped talking at the sight of her erect, defiant back.

This defiance carried her through the evening. Let Johanna glare from her throne, let the older ladies on the side chairs whisper and look at her if they wanted to. The gentlemen at least were kind. Harman claimed her at once, and as she was naturally quick she soon managed to do well enough in the polka and waltzes.

She danced with Livingstons and Van Rensselaers and she danced with John Van Buren, whose wife was ill at home. Though his ginger-colored whiskers tickled her forehead, she particularly enjoyed this dance because Mr. Van Buren told her at once that she had something of the grace of the young queen. Miranda was immensely flattered but embarrassed too, for she had no idea to what queen he might refer and was wondering how to find out when the gentleman relieved her worry.

'I had always heard that the English were not particularly good dancers,' he continued, expertly twirling Miranda, 'but I must say that the Princess Victoria—she wasn't Queen yet, you know—quite altered my opinion.'

Miranda looked up at him. 'You mean you danced with Queen Victoria of England?' she whispered.

John Van Buren for all his sophistication was annoyed. Surely everyone knew of his sojourn in England with his father, and of his intimacy with royalty. An intimacy that had even in some American quarters prompted hints at a match between the President's son and the young princess. This would have been preposterous, of course, and he was entirely happy with his Elizabeth; but though he deprecated it he enjoyed his universal nickname of 'Prince John' which had clung to him since those hallowed months now seven years in the past.

Miranda, whose knowledge of men had broadened in the last weeks, and who was not handicapped in this instance by the dismay she would have felt if it had been Nicholas whom she had somehow offended, brilliantly redeemed her mistake.

'I don't wonder that the Queen enjoyed dancing with you,' she said. 'You dance so well, and then—then—' Miranda cast down her lashes.

'Then what—?' prompted Van Buren, already mollified.

'You're so very handsome,' finished Miranda with a shy little smile.

'Nonsense, child,' said Van Buren, laughing; but he revised his opinion of her. Really the little thing was charming. He was sorry when her next partner claimed her. A sorrow not shared by Miranda, for her next partner was Nicholas.

This was the moment for which she had been praying all evening. Dance after dance had gone by and she had nearly given up hope that he would ask her. Indeed, now the Count had already approached her and begun, "Mademoiselle, will you do me the honor—' when Nicholas came up to them.

"You're already engaged to the Count for this dance, Miranda?' he asked.

'Oh, no,—' she cried with a vehemence most unflattering to the round little Frenchman. 'No, indeed, Cousin Nicholas.'

The Count made a little face and smiled to himself, murmuring, 'At any rate I am in the discard.' Aloud he said, 'I hope I may dance with Mademoiselle later; but now I shall console myself with Mademoiselle Van Rensselaer.' He walked to one of the gilt chairs on the farther wall where Harriet sat waiting dolefully for a partner.

At least, thought Miranda swiftly,
I
don't lack for partners even if my manners are odd and I do lack breeding; but this thought vanished as all other thought vanished when the orchestra began to play the Coryantis Waltz, and she found herself in Nicholas' arms.

His gloved hand barely touched her rose satin waist, he held her even further away from him than the prescribed twelve inches; but as they followed the sugary strains of Coryantis she was overwhelmed by his nearness. It was as though they were imprisoned together in a shimmering bubble through which she could see the image of the drawing-rooms and the other dancers distorted and diminished.

Nothing was of any importance but Nicholas and the closeness of their bodies. Her heart beat furiously, the hand which he held in his trembled, her breath kept catching in her throat and starting with a sharp sigh. She rushed wildly into speech, babbling of the party, the music, telling him in incoherent detail of the episode with John Van Buren, of her earlier talk with Harman Van Rensselaer. Suddenly Nicholas cut across this flow. 'Keep still, Miranda,' he said curtly. He had not been looking at her; his dark chiseled face was raised and his eyes fixed on some point far beyond her head. Now as he spoke he still did not look at her, but to the rebuke which dismayed her he added two words, 'My dear.'

At first she doubted that she had heard them right, afraid to hope that he had said those words not casually, or impatiently, but with emphasis, giving them their full force of intimate endearment. But his hand tightened on hers, and she knew that she had indeed understood him.

To the other dancers the waltz seemed interminable. The musicians, watching Nicholas and waiting for a sign, received none and, cleverly dovetailing Coryantis' finale into its introduction, began again.

The Count, bouncing around with Harriet and perspiring freely, for she was a well set up young lady considerably larger than he, watched Nicholas and Miranda from the tail of his eye and thought: He is indiscreet, that young man, people will certainly begin to guess something. The girl's face is transparent as a piece of window glass.