Dragonwyck by Anya Seton Read Free Book Online Page A

credit as his cousin. Those hideous clothes must be rectified. She must lose the flat drawl that proclaimed her Yankee upbringing. He had noticed her uncertainty with forks and knives; her table manners in general needed correction. She must learn how to walk with dignity instead of apologetically. She was unpoised, her movements were jerky, she seemed not to realize that she must always precede a gentleman and hung back in an awkward way whenever he tried to usher her through a door. But she would learn easily. Fortunately Nature had given her delicate bones and a graceful slenderness—very different from Johanna.
    As always at the thought of his wife a black curtain descended in his mind.
    They reached the gangplank, an ornate affair of mahogany and red plush carpeting. Miranda stopped uncertainly at its foot, instinctively waiting for Nicholas to lead the way.
    He shook his head. 'You must go first. Always a lady precedes her escort.'
    'Oh, to be sure,' she said quickly. Pa had always led his flock but this was different, the ways of gentry. She would not make that mistake again.
    The Swallow was overpowering to Miranda. It was, as the newspapers proudly called it, a 'floating palace.' From the carved golden eagle on the bow to the gaily flying flag at the stern, every available surface had been embellished with scrollwork painted white and tastefully accented with gilt. Inside the main saloon—two decks high—Corinthian pillars supported Gothic arches which merged in turn into a vast ceiling painted with cupids and garlands. The satin draperies, the inch-thick carpets, and enormous chandeliers eclipsed even those at the Astor House.
    Whereas, yesterday, Miranda had sat on a sack of potatoes in the market boat, today she had a rosewood-and-velvet armchair in a sheltered recess of the broad white deck. And there was music. A German band in the saloon rendered one after another, without interval, the popular tunes.
    'An infamous racket,' commented Nicholas disdainfully as he sat down beside her, so that she did not dare admit that she thought the music beautiful. But as the Swallow got under way the band's efforts were drowned out by the swishing of the paddle wheels, the pounding of the walking beam, and chugging blasts from the smokestacks.
    They gathered speed after they passed Yonkers, and Miranda was grateful for the protected place which Nicholas had found, for the firemen brought up pressure by the addition of fat pine knots to the anthracite, and less sheltered passengers must either be deluged with soot and flying sparks or seek the stuffy saloon.
    When they left the Tappan Zee, Miranda gave herself eagerly to admiration of the scenery. Nicholas pointed out to her the peaks of Dunderberg and Anthony's Nose, the tiny Pollopel's Island, on which in Dutch times a goblin had dwelt to plague the sailors. He told her this and other legends of the river so that she listened in wide-eyed fascination. Nicholas, when he chose, was a brilliant talker, with that inborn and unreachable gift for making any topic interesting. At the moment it amused him to entertain Miranda.
    The Swallow was leaving the Newburgh landing when several passengers ran down the decks to the stern and the boat seemed to leap forward, the pistons banged to a new frenzied rhythm, and sparks flew thick as red flies from the stacks.
    Nicholas stood up and gazed down-river where another ship had appeared around the jut of Denning's Point. 'It's the Express,' he said. 'She's after us. Now we shall doubtless race her to Pough-keepsie.'
    'Race?' questioned Miranda, surprised. 'Whatever for?'
    'For the pleasure of proving that the other boat is inferior.'
    She looked at him quickly, thinking it an odd reply, and wondering if he were laughing at her, but he was intently watching the Express's progress as she gained on them. The Swallow's pounding and straining increased until it seemed that her decks would burst open, and the sparks from the smokestack