“Thorpe. You won’t be believed.”
“Perhaps not. But Godwin will be rid of the man she will otherwise always think of as her father. And I have had the help of someone who is not known to be in this country, let alone in Carolina or at Vanderland, so I don’t care if I am believed by every person at Vanderland, every person in America, to have murdered my husband, as long as no one can prove my guilt.”
“I still don’t understand—”
“I included you in case something went amiss. Should Van somehow survive this or, despite his death, should his brothers get wind of
his affection and plans for the boy … well, he or they could still lay claim to him, and Godwin could still be cheated out of what is rightfully hers. So the boy must go, as must the person in the world I can rely on to do his best to make sure he
stays
away from Vanderland. You are not a guarantee of anything, Mr. Druken. But you are all I have by way of insurance.”
“In part, I think you’re doing this for Deacon. Almost as much as for Godwin.”
“He is a child, but like no other I have known.” A tenderness that he’d heard before when she first spoke to Deacon but that still surprised Landish crept into her voice. “However, I love my daughter no less for that.”
“But this is murder, Mrs. Vanderluyden.”
“Yes.” She drew a deep breath, standing to her full height. “Such as he is rumoured to have committed when
he
was but a child. And might well commit again.”
“Have you considered what the terms of Van’s will might be?”
“I believe I have considered everything, Mr. Druken. I know that Van has named one of his brothers as trustee of Godwin’s estate until she comes of age. The will stipulates that she live on at Vanderland until then or else forfeit her inheritance.”
“So you will have to live out the balance of your sentence at Vanderland after all.”
“I have long thought that I could not bear to spend twelve more years in this living grave, Mr. Druken. But I will stay because I must and it will be bearable without Van. With Goddie and Mr. Thorpe. I have a fantasy. I know it to be no more than that, but it sustains me. Mr. Thorpe knows the inner workings of Vanderland as well as Mr. Hunt’s son and far better than my husband. And I have for a long time been thinking of a way by which this prison of a house might be destroyed. A near lake of gasoline for the engines that power the house is stored in the basement. There are boilers the size of
locomotives. Thousands of tons of coal and wood. An armoury full of gunpowder and dynamite. It would be something, Mr. Druken, don’t you think, Vanderland wrecked, plowed under as Carthage was plowed under by the Romans.
“So much for what I wish could happen. The rest is not a fantasy. I will, after a respectable period of mourning, marry Mr. Thorpe. And I will one day buy or build in New York a house that suits me. I am a Vanderluyden by name, by marriage, and all of New York society knows it had better pretend to believe that Godwin is one by blood.”
“I can’t help wondering what you were like when you married Van,” Landish said. “The idealistic, romantic young woman who wouldn’t let him near her until he told her that he loved her and sounded like he meant it. Until he said ‘I love you’ with ‘unmistakable sincerity.’ ”
“I have my daughter. Godwin will be upset when she finds out that Van is gone. But she will get over it. She is young and strong. You didn’t think, did you, Mr. Druken, that I’d be content to merely frustrate my husband’s plans to take her from me and make the boy his heir? If there’d been no other way, I’d have shot him dead in front of witnesses.
“I have never
been
with any man but Mr. Thorpe whose love for me does not have about it an unmistakable sincerity. Nor does mine for him. But he will do. Now I must be getting back. And you must be on your way. It won’t be long before the alarm is sounded. You had better put as much distance between yourself and Vanderland as possible.”
She reached inside the sleeve of her dress and withdrew an envelope that she handed to him. “Some money,” she said, “to go with what my husband gave you. And I never want to set eyes on you again.” She turned and walked away from him.
Landish thought of Van lying dead on the floor in the convalescent suite, a windowless soundproofed room somewhere deep inside the house. Van was once a boy who, rightly or wrongly, had been accused of murdering his sister. He had conceived of and built Vanderland, the
monumental asylum where no eyes dared meet his, and the prospect from all the windows was of the never-changing mountains of the South, by whose perfect exclusion of him he must have been affronted. Landish could think of no life but Van’s that had been so entirely Just Mist.
Deacon couldn’t see at first because he still had the lightbulbs in his eyes. But then he saw the motor car beneath the trees beside the school, and they went quickly towards it. “Let’s wait for Landish before we get in,” Esse said. “He won’t be much longer.” He took her hand.
The night air was warm. The snow and ice from a week before had melted.
Landish came out and ran over to them. He put the box containing Captain Druken’s hat and Gen of Eve in the back of the Packard.
“Get in,” he said. “Be quick about it.”
Esse got in the front. Deacon reached the back door handle but he couldn’t make it work. Landish came around and opened the door, picked him up and put him in. “Get down on the floor when I tell you to,” he said.
Deacon watched in exctiment as Landish turned a crank at the front of the Packard like you did to bring up water from a well. The Packard shook, then made a noise and the shaking almost stopped as Landish leapt into the front seat. The Packard moved a bit, then stopped, then moved again. Landish cursed and prayed and turned the wheel a lot. He said he went faster with Deacon on his shoulders than this contraption ever would. But Deacon heard the crackle of the tires on the cinder path. Landish said, “Hold on.” They made it to the Esplanade, swerved and almost hit the hedge. “Dear God,” Esse said. Landish said it was bad luck to look back but he and Deacon and Esse looked back.
“We never said goodbye to the Blokes,” Deacon said. He tried to find The Blokes but he couldn’t tell one part of Vanderland from another.
“We’ll write to them,” Landish said.
They were heading down the driveway now. Landish told Deacon and Esse to duck down at the main gate lodge. No lights were on inside. The bar with the black and white stripes was up. Landish thought he could just make out Mr. Trull at the window of the lodge, staring as he had the day they met at Princeton.
“Not much farther,” Landish said. “We’ll get rid of this thing as soon as we can buy a horse and carriage.”
Deacon looked back and saw some men with rifles running after them.
“They’re chasing us, Landish,” he shouted over the noise of the car.
The lights of the main gate lodge came on all at once. The black and white striped barrier dropped like a felled tree onto the hood of the Packard. The headlights and windshield of the motor car exploded. Too late, Landish shielded his face with his arm. Esse ducked down onto his lap and he covered her face with his hand.
“Deacon!” Landish said.
“I’m all right. The glass didn’t get me,” Deacon said.
Landish felt the muzzle of a gun against his temple. He was blinded by the lights of the lodge, but he recognized Mr. Trull’s voice. “Get out, all three of you.”
“There’s glass everywhere,” Landish said.
“Then hope for the best while you’re getting out,” said Mr. Trull.
Landish considered grabbing the barrel of the gun and yanking the rifle from Trull’s hands. But smoke was rising from the front of the Packard, and Deacon had seen more than just one man chasing them.
“Be careful getting out,” he told Esse. “Deacon, stay put. I’ll come get you.” Landish shook the shards of glass from the front of his clothes and climbed gingerly from the Packard. He stood face to gun with Trull, who aimed the double barrel at his head.
“I’m going to take the boy from the car,” he said. Trull nodded and retreated two steps. Landish opened the rear door and took hold of Deacon who was on his hands and knees in the back seat.
“Your forehead is cut,” Deacon said as Landish took him under the armpits and lifted him from the car.
“I’m all right,” Landish said. He set Deacon on his feet and took his hand.
Everything within a hundred feet of the lodge was brightly lit. More than a dozen men stood at the edge of the light in a semicircle, guns pointed at Landish. Two of the men parted to make way for Van, who was breathing heavily. He doubled over, his hands on his knees.
“You stupid murdering fool, Landish,” he said. “I gave you yet another chance and yet again you wasted it. You’ll hang for this.”
“I did only what I was told to do while being held at gunpoint.”
“I assure you no judge or jury will agree with you. Miss Esse will also get what she deserves, and Deacon will stay here with me, Godwin and Gertrude, who will contradict your version of what happened. Thorpe will soon be on his way to a place from which not even Gertrude can entice him back to Vanderland.
“They meant to murder me, Landish. She told me so. An accident, she meant to make it seem. And all of Vanderland would have passed to a child, a girl who is not even mine. They would have killed me if not for Mr. Trull, who forced his way to the convalescent suite when he heard from the servants that I was ill. I will not send Gertrude to New York. Not now. She will stay here with me and her daughter in the greatest of the great houses of the world. She will die here.”
Deacon pulled his hand from Landish’s. He walked to Van, who now was standing erect. He looked up at him. “You can still have me if you let Landish and Miss Esse go,” he said.
Van tried to smile. He crouched down to Deacon’s height.
“But they’ve done bad things and must be punished,” he said.
“All Landish did was steal a hat someone stole from him. The nobleman can have the hat. Landish doesn’t want it anymore. I’ll be unhappy if you don’t let Landish go. I’ll wonder if he’s in the Tomb of
Time. I won’t be what you bargained for. The chimney witch won’t go away. I love Landish. Landish loves Miss Esse.”
“And who loves
me
, Deacon? You do, don’t you?”
“Vivvie loves you. She’ll be glad to see you when you get there. She knows you didn’t put the button in her mouth.”
“I’ll never see Vivvie again. I don’t miss her anymore. I loved her, but I was just a boy. I have loved no one since, except Landish. What did loving Vivvie get me? A lifetime of being regarded as a freak whose supposedly unnatural affection for his sister was somehow transformed into a murderous hatred of her.
“As to what loving Landish got me”—he stood, threw open his arms and looked around—“it got me
this
. Near murder at the hands of my own wife and her lover. We have come to this, Landish: you, captured, on my orders, by a posse of men with guns, and me holding forth about love and murder to a child in the middle of the night.”
Deacon glanced back at Landish who had his arm around Miss Esse. Deacon turned back to Mr. Vanderluyden and gave him a leg hug. He wrapped his arms around his leg and pressed his head against him. Mr. Vanderluyden didn’t put his hand on Deacon’s head or run his fingers through his hair like Landish did when Deacon hugged his leg. He tried hard not to cry. Mr. Vanderluyden tried to pull away from Deacon but Deacon held on to his leg.
“I don’t want to stay here, but I will. I’m sorry I don’t like it here. You didn’t pick me first. Landish did. So I won’t be yours even if you keep me. But I’ll stay here if you let Landish go. He picked Miss Esse—”
“Enough, Deacon. Please,” said Mr. Vanderluyden.
Deacon cried harder.
“Van,” Landish said, “it is autumn in the heyday of the Drukens and the Vanderluydens. Our winter will be here before most have even noticed the start of our decline.”
“Landish used to lug me back and forth on his foot in the attic when we lived on Dark Marsh Road,” Deacon said.
Van tried to pry Deacon’s fingers from his leg. “Let go,” he said. “I won’t have you clinging to me like an animal.”
“Vivvie would have loved you if she grew up all the way,” Deacon said.
Mr. Trull stepped forward, gun in one hand, and tried to pull Deacon away. Together, he and Van pried Deacon’s arms and hands from Van’s leg.
“Go to Landish,” Van said. He fell to his knees and sat back on the heels of his shoes, his hands on his thighs. And so he recounted the last version of the story that Deacon, Landish and Esse would ever hear.
The nurse found the baby just after its bedtime. The whole house was still awake. Van was still wearing the shirt he had shown Deacon which his father had checked for a missing button. There was never any doubt about whose shirt the button came from. The bottom button of the front set, one of two that are worn tucked inside the trousers, one of two that, had they come loose by accident, could not have found their way into the crib. The only question was how the button got inside the baby’s mouth.
“I loved Vivvie. I have loved no one since—not even you, Landish, not even you, Deacon—as I loved her.”
Delicate, bookish, brooding, weak-willed, easily brought to tears, Van was entirely lacking in the Vanderluyden mettle and robustness that his dory-rowing grandfather and his father so admired. His father, when he was angry with him, often declared that he would leave to Van no more than a father with several sons would be expected to leave to one of his daughters, if indeed he left him anything.
Van’s father doted on the baby girl as much as Van did. Unmistakably a Vanderluyden, Van’s father said, an object lesson to Van by the age of one, even though a girl, because she grew faster than any of his sons had. Van’s father would sing her praises to family and friends, repeating in public that he would leave his money to her and give Van a girl’s portion. When he did so in Van’s presence, the boy would run from
the room in tears. When she died and Van’s father discovered that a button was missing from the very shirt Van was wearing, he openly accused him of putting the button in the child’s mouth. He might have done Van physical harm had Van’s mother not called for her older sons and the servants to hold him back.